One More Year
by titface
Summary: Senior year. Things are not exactly looking up. Santana is just biding her time until she can get out of this town. She is not the only one.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is my first story. I'm playing fast and loose with canon and timelines and whatever. Read, review, enjoy, etc.**

**Do not own, blah blah blah**

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"Noah!"

My gloriously dreamless sleep is suddenly no longer sleep and definitely no longer glorious. I am_ really _not interested in opening my eyes right now, like, at all. So I don't. Because, honestly, I already know how this is going to play out. So I am just going to lie here and enjoy every last second of calm before the storm barges in and-

"Noah, it's the first day of school and you have early football practice..." I hear the door open (No locks, seriously, what is this place?) and feel a bit of air on my bare ass, which, not ideal in this particular situation but it's hardly the first time and it is hot as hell so I will take what I can get. And anyway, it is somehow both too late and far too early to be worrying about modesty right now. I open one eye and squint in the direction of the door. "Good morning , Mrs. Puckerman..." I croak out. I was actually going for polite, but it came out more like "drunken bitch", which, yeah.

"Santana." Even with only one eye half open, I can tell that she is, like, bright red and looking a little unsteady. I'm not even sure if I'd be lying if I said she has steam coming out of her ears. "I think it's time for you to leave." Prim and proper, right? How can I possibly say no. Jesus. At this point I am one thousand percent sure that Puck is just pretending to be asleep. Not that I really blame him, and definitely not like I actually want to deal with him right now, but still. "Mmhmmm..." I mumble, and she is out the door before I can even roll over, which is just her loss I guess. I try opening both eyes now and, well, no surprises here. This place is a fucking pigsty. Somebody needs to talk to this kid but it sure as hell won't be me. I basically just grope around on the floor until I find enough clothes to roughly approximate an outfit. I'm sure at least some of them belonged to me at some point. It all evens out in the end anyway. Besides, starting in about... shit, fifteen minutes? I'll be trapped in my damn Cheerios uniform every day for the next pretty-much-forever, so fashion isn't really top priority at the moment.

On my way out I stop just long enough to smack Puck on the back of his definitely-not-really-sleeping head, earning me a groan. "Asshole...", I mutter while wading through the mess towards the door.

Fucking boys.

From the living room, I hear Puck's mom banging around in the kitchen, but since I'm reasonably certain that I am _not_invited for breakfast, I just head out the front screen door. Jesus, it's barely even light out.

This is going to be a long fucking year of long fucking days.

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"Sandbags! You have wasted enough of my precious time today! Get your salty ass up that pyramid ASAP!"

Seriously. Long. Fucking. Days.

Beginning at 6am (6am! I'm pretty sure it's not even_ legal _for her to be dragging us out here this early every day. But Sue Sylvester is, like, above the law or something.)

Okay. So I was maybe a few minutes late. I mean, obviously my wakeup call left a little something to be desired. And I might have indulged a bit last night, necessitating my pulling over on the side of the road once or twice on the drive over. And maybe my uniform could use an ironing. But twenty extra laps? Way excessive. And I am now feeling those extra beers from last night in every horrible way imaginable. And, like, obviously it would be hilarious to barf on all the baby Cheerios below me on the pyramid, but I seriously cannot handle any more laps this morning. So I carefully climb my way to almost-the-top (fucking Quinn Fabray gets the top spot, of course), pointedly ignoring anybody who might be next to me and plastering on a show-smile that even Rachel fucking Berry would be proud of. I hope to God this is all Coach is expecting of me right now because I am just not capable of multitasking any further at this point. One more year. That's what I keep telling myself. Over and over again, like it will make it elapse more quickly somehow.

I survive practice, barely. It's the first week of September and it's that sticky kind of hot that has you peeling yourself off of everything you so much as brush up against. And while the idea of climbing and huddling in a mass of hot, sweaty cheerleaders is admittedly pretty appealing, believe me when I tell you that the reality is honestly kind of... smelly.

And anyway, I'm over cheerleaders.

I head to the showers immediately to beat the rush, and mostly because I don't feel like being here any longer than necessary. I'm dressed and on my way out before most of the others have even made it to the showers. I'm thinking I can probably grab a quick nap in my car before homeroom when-

"San!" I'm wrapped up in familiar arms that are, as always, way stronger than I ever expect they could be. Wrapped up by a hot, sweaty cheerleader who is definitely not smelly. I breathe her in and, yeah. Not smelly at all. She lets me go as suddenly as she had latched on and jumps back and claps her hands like it's fucking choreographed. Not that she's ever needed choreography for, well, anything. "I waved at you earlier but you totally didn't see me."

Right. That.

Her blue eyes are just sparkling at me like... what? Like something? Like _anything_?

"Why didn't you come to Artie's end of summer party? We watched Battlestar Galactica and I'm pretty sure Artie is a cylon, but, like, a good one. I called you a super lot of times." She's like, twirling in place like a fucking toddler (like a fucking princess). She's_ smiling_.

"Right. Sorry, Britt. My phone must have been dead, and I, um..." Jesus. I_ want _to be_ mean_, okay? I want that. But I look at her, and all I can do is- "Hey, I've actually got something I have to take care of before school. We'll catch up at lunch?" God. So fucking weak. But her eyes are still sparkling, and she's saying "Totally" and she's kissing my cheek and twirling away and is already half naked on her way to the showers before I can even begin to process anything.

And I am out the door and into my car and I am_ not crying_. Not really.

Because I am over cheerleaders.

So. I survived practice. Barely.

And anyway, I've already fucking seen Battlestar Galactica.


	2. Chapter 2

"Santana..."

Nope. Not falling for this one. Not this time. This is nap time.

"Santana!"

Suddenly somebody is knocking on my window and I once again torn out of my glorious sleep and reminded that I am still _very much _hungover. And I am in my car. In my Cheerios uniform. And I am totally stuck to the leather seat of my car. Oh, awesome.

"Santana, that was the warning bell. You really ought to hurry unless you want to be late for the first day of school. As you know, it's very important to start the year off on the right-"

I cut her off with a growl. I am just not in the mood for Rachel fucking Berry this morning. I blink and hear her huffing and when I open my eyes she is storming towards the front of the school on a mission. Well, that probably isn't good. But what else is new? God, I guess I really _do_ have to do this. I peel myself off the seat and fix my makeup as best I can in the rearview before climbing out of the car and slouching toward William McKinley High.

The second I reach the door I stand up straight and replace my scowl with a smirk. Everybody has their role to play and this is mine. I immediately feel a familiar pinky link with mine and I don't even need to glance over to know who that is. And considering my reaction to her last time, I figure it's in everybody's (or, well, maybe just mine) best interest to ignore it we walk together, me smirking and narrowing my eyes at everyone we pass, and she, I imagine (seriously, I am not going to look) waving and smiling and doing whatever it is that makes her so...

Ah. _This_ I can work with.

Finn Hudson. Golden Boy, starting Quarterback, boyfriend to Cheerio Captain Quinn Fabray, and, oh yeah, total drooling moron. He's standing at his locker with Puck, who I guess was eventually able to drag his ass out of bed after all. "Hi Guys!" Britt says, dropping my pinky and throwing herself at them for pretty much the same treatment I got this morning (which, whatever.) "Finn", I say, looking him up and down. "Puckerman", I mumble, not breaking eye contact with Finn. "Are you ready for the game on Friday?" I ask him, kind of stroking his forearm softly. Okay, listen. Finn is... he's revolting. He is enormous and stupid and just such a little boy. But like, a giant little boy. And he's so _nice_. It's gross. But, I mean, I've had a rough morning. And messing with Finn is the easiest way to get to- speak of the devil.

Quinn brushes past me and practically has to climb Finn to kiss him on the cheek. Seriously. _So_ tall. Of course she gets the usual hug from Brittany, and she completely ignores Puck for some reason. "Santana", she says sweetly, but her eyes are one thousand percent ice queen, not that anybody else would notice. "Sue really hates it when we're late to practice. Better work on that, I wouldn't want you getting into any trouble with Coach." The whole time, she's, like, gripping onto Finn like a life preserver or something and staring me down hardcore. Like, really?

"Babe, walk you to class?", Puck says and offers me his arm with a raised eyebrow. I throw him an eyeroll and a "You wish" and hold my hand up for Britt to re-link our pinkies (like, things are so _normal _sometimes for like a half second, and then her pinky is actually there and I'm back to not even being able to look at her). "That's not what you were saying yesterday." Ugh. Me and Britt start to walk away and I say sweetly, which for me always winds up kind of venomous and scary (not complaining), "Everybody makes mistakes." I swear I actually hear Quinn laugh, but I don't look back.

And, honestly, Puck _is_ a mistake. Every time. He's really not a bad guy, but, I don't know. He's kind of like tequila shots. I mean, listen. A little bit is a good time, okay. At the beginning of the night? Totally harmless. But at the end of the night it's a completely different story. It becomes just a way to prolong the inevitable return to reality, to keep the party going, and it's predictably regrettable pretty much immediately. We're friends. We have a lot in common, superficially. Like, obviously, we're both hot. We're both smarter than we look (I'd never tell him that. And anyway, I'm still_ much _smarter than he is.) And, I guess, we're both "trouble". Whatever that means. But I kind of love the kid. It's just _this fucking town_. There is really nothing to do here _but_ get in trouble. And, really, that's the main thing we don't have in common. He'd be content to stay in this town and get in trouble with girls who aren't even into him forever. Hell, he's_ excited _about the prospect. Me? I have to get out of here.

Britt lets go of my pinky when I get to my first period math class (we missed homeroom, but whatever) and heads to her own class. She's taking remedial whatever-the-fuck, obviously, so we don't have any classes together, thank god. I mean, for both of our sakes. I don't even want to think about her trying to do calculus. Sam is in this class, so I sit next to him. "Trouty", I smirk at him and offer up a high five. He slaps my hand and just kind of laughs and shakes his head. We get along. I mean, we dated, I guess, technically, but that was kind of a farce. And I was characteristically dickish in the way I dumped him, but for whatever reason he wasn't that mad at me. He's just easy that way. He's also my sci fi connection. Or, I don't know, my sci fi excuse? Either way, during a long hot summer of avoiding Brittany and trying (and occasionally even succeeding) to make smarter decisions regarding Puck, I wound up watching a lot of Netflix in Sam's basement. And he didn't even tell anybody. So, yeah, we're cool. But I feel like I might wind up having to help him out with this math shit because he is looking a little out of his depth.

Everything goes smoothly up until lunch, and I decide to keep it smooth by just eating in my car. Britt probably doesn't even remember I promised to eat with her. I'm gonna need to work myself up to actually hanging out with her in small doses, I think. I am_ definitely _not ready for the full Bartie experience yet. After I finish my food (what little I'm allowed to eat, anyway, per Sue Sylvester) I shut my eyes for a minute, because, yeah. I am still hungover. I feel like maybe 5 minutes have gone by when, once again, Rachel fucking Berry is knocking on my window. "Uuugh, what do you _want_, Troll? Do you, like, maintain a cave in the parking lot or something, because you seem to live here" I ask her as I'm rolling down the window. "One could ask the same of you, Santana. Have you even left your car today?" Wait, why did I even roll the window down? I just start rolling it back up again before she's done talking. I open the door, okay maybe I kind of hit her with it but she was seriously_ hovering_, and walk back into school without sparing her another glance. Glee starts tomorrow. She will have plenty of chances to enrage me this year, I'm sure, so I don't feel too bad about robbing her of this one.

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And once again we are smooth sailing. School really isn't that hard. I mean, like I said, I am pretty smart. The only problem I really have with school is actually making myself go in the first place. Which brings us to tenth period. English. Where I find a teacher's note taped to my syllabus, asking me to stay after class for a "brief discussion." Oh,_ awesome_.

"Santana," Mr. Henderson begins, in a painfully earnest tone that immediately sets me on edge, "As you are probably aware, you missed more than a few days of school last year." Okay, so, like I said, I can sometimes find myself with a bit of an attendance problem. "Now, your GPA was such that you were obviously able to pass your junior year. But, unfortunately your English grade was not sufficient to earn you a pass, and we require four years of passing English grades if we're to allow you to graduate."

Wait, what? This fucking school. Nobody could have said anything to me last year about this? I mean, I'm kind of scary but seriously. This is their job. And, okay, you know what? My grades are usually great. Like, really really good. And most stuff I can just kind of wing. But the thing about English is that you kind of have to have read the books to pass the tests or, I guess, write the essays? The ones I didn't write? Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck Brittany. And Wheels. And, no, I was right the first time. Just, fuck. I'm just sitting here glaring at him. Or maybe my mouth is kind of hanging open and maybe I'm almost crying. Maybe.

"Now, you have a full schedule of classes this year. Most of them AP. And you have a few extra-curriculars that also seem to eat up a lot of your time. You are something of a special case, Santana." Oh, hey thanks. "Having spoken to your teacher from last year and Principal Figgins, we've determined that we should be able to credit you with the fourth year in kind of an independent study fashion, to be graded by me. I've created a syllabus for you, broken down by quarter. I will expect all of the specified work to be handed in by the last day of that quarter. You will also be responsible for all of the classwork for my class. Due to the additional pressure you'll be facing for this class, I've taken the liberty of assigning you a tutor. You can work out your schedule together, but I will be checking in with her periodically to make sure you are on track to graduate. And here she is, right on schedule!"

And... oh_ hell _no.

"Santana, I believe I warned you previously that attendance is important to maintaining our education."

Rachel fucking Berry.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, I realize I am at risk of seeming nearly as dramatic as the aforementioned Ms. Rachel Berry, but this shit can't really be happening, right? It's unreal.

"How are you even a tutor? Don't you have _lessons_? Like, voice lessons, ballet, whatever the fuck other things you've been nattering on about for the last three years? I wouldn't want to call it "a life", per se, but don't you have, like, your own _business_ to attend to?"

God. This fucking day. And every fucking day from now on apparently. This is just not how I thought... this is just_ not_. I'm supposed to just go to Cheerios, get berated by Sue, skate through my classes, sing a couple songs in Glee, avoid seriously _everybody_ (except maybe Sam), and get my ass out of this hellhole once and for all. I mean, it's a simple fucking plan. I am so sick of being trapped here and now I am, like, actually for-serious fucking _trapped_. With the chairman of the fucking Lollipop Guild as my jailer. God, just look at her. Does she ever stop talking? Wait, "What are you even saying? I am so used to ignoring you by now. From the top. And briefly, please." I guess Mr. Henderson must have excused himself at some point because it is just the two of us. Oh joy.

"As I was saying, I have reached the heights of what Lima can offer in terms of performance classes. Truth be told, I've pretty much been treading water at the rec center since I was 13, but I felt compelled to continue if only to keep my skills sharp. At this juncture, what with the intensity of our more recent Glee performances, I've determined that my time might be better spent on other ventures so as to diversify my extra-curriculars for my college applications. Thus: tutoring." At this, she nods her head and plasters an enormous fucking show-smile on her face. I, on the other hand, just squint at her and shake my head. "Whatever. I have to go. I_ apparently _have work to do." I throw her a wave over my shoulder without looking back. I know I'll have to deal with this situation eventually, but I am at the end of my rope today and as appealing as it seems at the moment, I just know that adding "Hobbit murder" to my resume is not going to help me graduate. Fucking_ priorities_.

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I pull into my driveway a little after 4, and, unsurprisingly, nobody is home. My dad is a doctor, but he works out of Columbus, so he's usually away at least 5 nights a week. My mom is, well, she's a doctor's wife. I'm not really sure what she does with her time, but most of the time she doesn't do it here. Seriously, though? They're nice people. We do alright, even if we aren't as close as some families. But tonight, like so many other nights, I am on my own.

It's not, like, dinner time yet, so I figure I actually will do some homework. Or, at least think about it. Foremost on my mind, which should be understandable, is this English situation. Looking over the syllabus for my extra work, honestly, I don't even need a tutor. I just need to make myself read these damn books. Many, many, _many_ damn books. Good thing I plan on aggressively avoiding a social life this year, because it looks to me like I might have to turn into a nerdy, reclusive bookworm (a super hot one, anyway) to get through this garbage. Whatever. I don't even have the books yet, and it's the first day, so I just burn through the calc intro problems I was assigned and call it a night.

My house is fucking cold from the a/c. I've never been able to find the happy medium in the summer. It's either hot and sticky and depressing with the a/c off or cold and maybe even more depressing with it on. I put on pajamas and slippers and flop onto the couch to check my phone. No New Messages. Okay, that's a lie. One new text from Puck, but that just says "**;)**", so I ignore it and decide it doesn't count because,_ gross_. And I mean, who else would text me anyway? What am I expecting? Sam, maybe, I guess. But he's probably going to have to work on his math homework way longer than I did. Who else is there. Besides Britt. But, like, why _wouldn't_ she text me? I blew her off at lunch, right? She's not even worried? And she seemed so happy to see me, but I guess she kind of seemed happy to see everybody. Whatever. If she did text me i would probably... Anyway. What, Quinn? Yeah, right.

We used to be friends. Like, _actually_ friends. Me and her and Britt. She's as close to royalty as you get in this place. Her dad owns pretty much everything in Lima except the Walmart, and he's on the city council. Hell, he's everywhere. Her mom runs all of the events at their church, which is, like, _The Church _around here. And she's head of the boosters for Cheerios and football. They pretty much run the town, and Quinn is their pride and joy. The thing is, Quinn wasn't always such a bitch. I mean, neither was I, I guess, or maybe I was. I don't really know what to think of myself, but Quinn used to be... nice. But then came high school, and Cheerios, and competition, and boys (whatever, it's true). And I don't know, it's like she wears a mask all the time and I have better things to do than try to decipher her psychological bullshit (Right, much better things to do, I say from my pajamas at 6pm on a Tuesday. Kill me now.) But anyway, she's spent the last two years attached to Finn at the hip (Just the hip, to be sure. She is also head of the celibacy club, naturally...) and hasn't really had the time or urge to spare a glance to anybody else for a long time. Except Berry. That is the one positive thing I can say about Rachel Berry: as annoying as she is to the general populace, myself_ very much _included, she drives Quinn especially crazy. Quinn has been convinced for years, ever since we all got conned into joining Glee, that Berry is after her man (and I use the term _very_ loosely). Personally, I don't see it, but I also try not to look at any of them very often if I can help it, so who knows.

God, it is fucking cold and depressing in here. It's not like I even want company, but I have to get out at least for a minute. I head out back and sit in the porch swing. We have a pool (Puck cleans it for me, free of charge) but I'm not in the mood. I just sit out here in the heat and listen to the crickets.

When I wake up, it's dark out, besides the fireflies and the stars. It's cooled down a bit but it's still pretty damn hot. I drag myself inside and grab my phone on the way up to bed. When I plug it in to the charger on my bedside table it lights up, and I see that I have a text.

**Unknown Number - I trust you've had time to review the materials for class. I will see you in Glee tomorrow. Goodnight. ***

I try to roll my eyes but I'm pretty sure I pass out before I can finish.


	4. Chapter 4

So, waking up in my own bed after a night of unparalleled boredom and sobriety does wonders for my mood, it turns out. Practice is still too early, but I manage to get there on time and avoid the wrath of Sue, if not the evil eye of Quinn Fabray. I smile at Britt when I see her; that seems to keep the hugs and kisses at bay for now at least. This time of year we practice outside when the football team isn't using the field. Despite the heat, it's actually not a bad start to the the day when I'm not nursing a two-ton hangover and a night's worth of beer-sweats. While we're warming down I notice Puck hanging out by the bleachers by himself like a creeper. Since I'm in a_ vaguely _good mood for once, I decide to ignore him and hit the showers before grabbing breakfast in the caf. Today might just be a good day.

I step out the locker room door and and walk into what feels like a wall of ice. _Motherf_-

"Motherfucker!"

"Oh shit..."

I wipe the ice from my eyes just in time to see a couple of letterman jackets hurrying away down the hall as fast as they can.

"Oh my God, Santana, are you alright? Did it get in your eyes? Can I take you to the nurse?"

I spin around to see, _of course_, a bone-dry, immaculately clean Rachel Berry staring at me wide-eyed and with her jaw practically on the floor. I swear to God if she says one more word to me-

"Santana-"

"Ahhhhhhhh!" I lunge at her and she just fucking shrieks and runs down the hallway as fast as her midget legs can carry her. Her reaction would almost be gratifying if I weren't fucking covered in slushie from head to toe. Jesus. This is completely disgusting. They were really trying to get her good. I wonder what she did this time. Whatever.

Back to the showers. Luckily, Sue wrangles an obscene amount of money from the school board and the Boosters for the Cheerio budget, so we have pretty much an infinite supply of uniforms. For whatever reason, as I'm heading to the showers for the second time already this morning, Quinn is just getting in from the field.

"Wow, Lopez, who did you piss off this time?" She arches a brow at me and swallows a laugh. Even she is at least a little afraid of me, I'm happy to note.

"Fuck off, Fabray. And tell your goons to do your dirty work elsewhere from now on. I walked right into the Rachel Berry Special right in front of the locker room. And while you're at it, I'm gonna need names. Puck can teach those two a little lesson about how to properly aim a slushie."

"What does Puck have to do with anything?", she asks me, which,_ excuse me_? She sounds almost _shy_.

"Puck does what I tell him to do. Now, unless you want to shower _with_ me, I suggest you go about your business and let me clean up your mess."

So, my good mood is pretty much off the table at this point. Accidental or not, this shit is unacceptable. Have you ever tried to wash this stuff off? Even after shampooing, my hair feels weird all damn day. If Sue sees my ponytail looking like this I'll be doing laps all week. It's just, I don't know, _exhausting_.

I miss breakfast, of course.

Classes go as well as can be expected, meaning: boring, useless, boring, movie (Seriously, McKinley? Movie day already? It is the second day of school), etc. I struggle to imagine how we are expected to gain an education in this place. I consider slushying Berry on the way to lunch as a little act of revenge for this morning, but it looks like somebody beat me to it. Honestly, revenge is beneath me anyway. The sight of her running to the bathroom holding her hands over eyes is just pathetic. The fact that I follow her into the girls' room means nothing besides that I have to pee (Seriously. I just drank a whole slushie in, like, a minute flat. Grape, if you must know.) While I'm washing my hands and she's trying valiantly to wring her hair out in the sink, she says "I'm sorry you were hit with that slushie this morning. Obviously it was intended for me, and while I admit I appreciated the few extra hours of peace it afforded me, I am not happy that you had to suffer for it." God, she's just so... _her_. "Whatever. I took a shower. Fat lot of good my accidental heroism did you, anyway." She arches a brow at me in an almost Fabray-ish manner. "'Accidental heroism?'" _Ugh_. I roll my eyes. Hard. "Shut up. You owe me, runt."

I eat lunch at the Cheerios table, with my back to the Glee kids. Quinn sits to my left, and nudges me with a smile when Berry walks in looking like a drowned cat. I avoid looking at her. Whatever, I've already seen it. And at this point I'm an expert at avoidance. Case in point: the blonde cheerleader casually draping her legs over the side of a wheelchair. Directly behind me. Sound fucking carries, though, and I am all too aware that she is happy to be exactly where she is right now.

Like, okay, I get it, you know? Everything adds up, and logically I understand what happened. I'm not stupid. Or, I mean, _usually_ I'm not stupid. I have realized, of course, that I somehow spent ten years of my life being _incredibly_ fucking stupid. But, truthfully?_ I didn't know_. I always thought "I love you this much because you are my best friend". It took practically being beaten over the head with it for me to realize that I loved her because I just_ did_. So, it's not her fault that I was an idiot. I was too late to the party, and she moved on. And it's not his fault either, but, seriously, I _really_ want it to be his fault. That would just be so easy. But either way, I can't look at them together. I can only barely look at them apart. And like, yeah, we can still be friends. But what does that even mean, when it turns out we never _were_ just friends? What's even left?

Is it pathetic that I am actually relieved when the bell rings?

When I get to English tenth period I am surprised to see Berry sitting in the front row. I ignore her and head to the back. Class is boring. Handing out books and talking about what we should be looking for in English Folktales, which, no thank you. I take out my phone and the last message is still the one from last night. _Popularity_, everybody. On a whim, and against my better judgement (Hey, I am _very_ bored, okay?) I send a reply.

**Santana Lopez: Hey dwarf, were you in this class yesterday?**

She must have it on vibrate, because she jumps a bit in her seat and makes sure nobody's looking before checking it. Her head whips back at me and she's, like,_ frowning _or something. I just arch a brow, like,_ get on with it already_.

**Berry: Of course. Otherwise, why would I be assigned as your tutor? It seems prudent to remind you that If you would pay more attention in class you might not need a tutor in the first place.**

First of all, yeah, I added her contact info into my phone. It makes sense, okay? And second of all, _damn_. Not the part where she is an obnoxious nag, but, like, yesterday? I didn't even notice her here. And today she is fucking everywhere I look. It's just weird to realize how quickly somebody can go from completely fucking invisible to totally on-the-radar. It is not an entirely welcome realization.

I wait for her to leave the room before I get up, but she, like, _won't go_. Fine. I stand up and get ready to go and she turns to me and smiles this pathetic (it's like shy and_ real_) smile at me and says "I thought since we share the last class of the day we might as well walk to Glee together. We can discuss our tutoring arrange-"

A world of no.

I brush past her and head to Glee on my own. It's, like, the principle.


	5. Chapter 5

The next week or so passes without much fanfare. Glee is back in session, and the usual suspects are back in the same seats as last year, plus one bowtie-sporting Warbler and a card-carrying lunatic named Sugar. It takes some serious geometrical prowess on my part, but I manage to angle my chair just right to keep Britt and Wheels in my blind spot as long as we stay seated. Berry actually bought a fucking _gavel _this year, to "maintain a sense of order and ensure an efficient use of our rehearsal time." Seriously, _this fucking girl_. Puck stole it and whacked Finn on the back of the head with it (it was actually kind of hilarious), so Mr. Schue confiscated it as a weapon. Berry pouted for the rest of the meeting. Everybody else laughed, except Quinn.

I have managed to avoid any tutoring thus far, mostly by pretending Berry is invisible whenever she approaches me. It's pretty rude, but it's also funny watching her turn purple (from frustration, rather than grape slushie, for once.) Whatever, I've been doing the work. My complete lack of social life has given me more than enough time to catch up, honestly. I'm actually_ bored_. Like, I still have Cheerios and Glee, but even with all the practicing and rehearsing and homework, there are a lot more hours in the day than I remember there being. Puck has pretty much stopped texting me, which, no big loss there. I went over Sam's house on Saturday but he was babysitting so it was kind of a drag and I didn't stay long. My only interactions with Brittany are a few words here and there at Cheerios practice and her pinky linked with mine in the hallways. So, yeah, I might be kind of lonely, but it looks like I am going to be a straight-A student this year. Bully for me.

Anyway, it's Friday. And it's the first football game of the year (A homegame, thank God; bus rides with Sue Sylvester are not for the faint of heart.) And for once, I am actually kind of happy to be here. I mean, I _like_ cheerleading. I'm good at it. But our football team is not generally worth cheering for. Like, Finn is all Big Man on Campus and everything, talking about football scholarships, but, like, we don't_ win games _(Yet another reason I cannot understand his appeal.) It just goes to show you how little there is to do in this town that our football games usually sell out despite the team having had a losing record as far back as I can bother to remember. But apparently we have a real coach this year, and so far we're holding our own out there tonight. Plus, I don't know. Maybe I've been in the house alone too much lately, but the hot, humid stadium full of cheering people is kind of..._ nice_. Even Quinn is smiling, and it's not just for show. We're having _fun_. Kurt, Blaine and Mercedes are in the stands to cheer on Finn and, I guess, Sam, though Sam has been pretty tight-lipped (heh, as if) about their situation. I even spot Tina in a crowd of Asians further back. She waves at me when I accidentally make eye contact and I just kind of shake my head, but I can't help but smile a little (shut up.)

And we win.

And I'm happy.

And I forget, for like, a split second, and I turn to grab Brittany in a hug, and she isn't there. She's (Already? Like, how fucking fast is this girl?) sitting in Artie's lap, wearing his helmet, while he does donuts on the field.

Fuck.

Okay.

I head to the parking lot, looking for a familiar truck. I throw my Cheerios bag in the bed and lean against the tailgate, checking my phone (You know, as if I actually have messages.) Puck shows up a little while later and throws his his gear in the back.

"What's up, hot mama?", he asks, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

"I need to drink tonight. I assume you came prepared?"

"You know it. Bonfire at the rock, need a lift?"

I mean, even now it's, like, 80 degrees outside, so the bonfire is maybe a little excessive. But this is pretty much the only ambiance you can expect from a Lima, Ohio party at any time of the year. And, whatever, I like to toast marshmallows. Quinn is all snuggled up to Finn, like some kind of two-headed letterman-wearing monster. Puck is across the fire from them, he hasn't been very chatty since we got here but I don't really care. I am drinking his beer. Like, _a lot _of his beer, I think. I should maybe think about counting at some point. Everybody else comes and goes: football players, Cheerios, people I don't even recognize, even the occasional Glee clubber. I know I saw Mercedes at some point, but that was a while ago. I get up to pee in the woods (Whatever, nature calls. And, yeah, Puck's beer) and realize I am hungry. Not Marshmallow hungry, like, _food hungry_.

"Puckerman. I needs to eat. Let's go."

"Nah, I think I'm gonna hang a while longer. Ask Sam."

Whatever. He's just been staring into the fire all night anyway; I don't know what's keeping him here but I have more pressing business to worry about. I find Sam walking towards the cars, which, perfect timing I guess. I put my arm around his waist and kind of hug him (Yeah, I am_ probably _drunk.)

"Sam, with that trouty mouth, I know you must be hungry."

"Uh, yeah, but I actually have to get home. Dad's working the night shift and he wants me home with my brother and sister. You can come with if you want, there's gotta be something to eat?"

"Ugh." I let go of his waist and, like, zombie-walk towards his car. "Can you just drop me at The Stix? I needs real food..."

It's only like 11 (Seriously? How am I this drunk already?) and Breadstix is open late on game nights since pretty much the whole town goes out. Sam drops me off and I give him a kiss on the cheek because, whatever, I guess I'm feeling_ friendly_. In the floodlights outside the restaurant I notice that I am kind of covered in dirt and leaves from lying on the ground stargazing, but there is nobody left in this town I really care about impressing, so I just give myself a cursory brush-down and walk in. It's kind of a ghost-town at this point, but they're open another hour. I'm leaning against the hostess stand waiting for, well, anybody, when I notice a familiar head of hair seemingly alone in a booth. I smirk and saunter over (saunter, stumble, I mean, it's all in the eye of the beholder.) In this case, the beholder is-

"Rachel fucking Berry..." I'm going for mocking but it comes out more like... drunk.

She glances up at me briefly and basically mutters "Santana fucking Lopez, to what do I owe this honor..." while looking down at what appears to be her homework spread out on the table. Well. That's not very... Berry-like. I sit down, because, hell, I'm gonna have to eat somewhere, right?

"Damn, Berry. I was just saying "hi". Did somebody, like, run off with Your Precious or something?"

She slams her book shut and gives me that look. You know the one. It's all angry eyes and her mouth shut tight and her whole body humming like a power line. Not, like, I mean... She is serious and almost frighteningly sober from my point of view. I put my hands up and kind of laugh.

"Whoa. I just came here for some dinner, and I saw my tutor and thought we might have, like, a study session, or..."

Which is not even believable to me, but it seems to do the trick. Or, more like, she finally notices how toast I am. Either way, she rolls her eyes but her expression softens a bit and she says "I think some food would probably be a good idea, indeed, Santana."

The waitress comes by and asks for my order, to which I reply-

"Breadsticks. With sauce."

"And a water, please", Rachel adds, sounding infinitely more like the Rachel Berry I have come to know.

The waitress walks away, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Not that I blame her, but, come on, what do you expect when the best thing on your menu is free? It's, like, not a good business model.

"Is that really all you're going to eat?" She's giving me this look like I'm an alien or something.

"Whatever, Berry. Their breadsticks are delicious. Plus, they're, like, vegan or whatever. So I don't see what your problem is. Would you rather I'd ordered the veal parm?"

Another awesome thing about the breadsticks is that they come out fast. So I am ripping one apart with my teeth practically before she can even answer me. Actually, she doesn't answer me at all. She just shakes her head, opens her textbook and goes back to her work. _Rude_. I look at her book to see what she's studying. "Algebra 2? Seriously? Child's play, which is perfect for you I guess, since you are basically child-sized. Hand it over, I'll finish it for you. It's Friday night, even you shouldn't be doing homework." Like, where did that come from? I think I have had a dangerously low amount of attention paid to me lately, because this behavior is, like, _unseemly_. She grabs it away from me but kind of smiles, almost.

"That would be unethical, and besides, it's essential that I learn the principles at work as a foundation for my understanding of the material as the course progresses. Having said that, I appreciate the offer."

Okay.

I don't know why.

But this _cracks me the fuck up_.

She's just looking at me like, I don't even know, but slowly she starts to smile and laugh a little bit too. I mean, she's maybe, like, chuckling. I am _laughing_.

"God, Berry, you are such a nerd."

She is no longer laughing. Which, I guess, makes me stop laughing too, for some stupid reason.

"I mean... I actually wasn't trying to be mean? Just, like, you use a lot of words. Like, _so many words_. And... and I... am _very_ drunk. Sorry, I guess..." Which, bullshit. I don't apologize. And I didn't even do anything wrong. But I guess we were having fun, almost? And it sucks that we're not having fun anymore. So whatever. I get up and throw some bills on the table-

"Santana," she's giving me this other look now. Like, wary and maybe a little sad? Sad about her or sad about me, I couldn't tell you, but it's definitely in there. "Your food didn't cost anything."

Oh. Right.

"Oh. Right."

I sweep my money into my other hand and dump it into my Cheerios bag. "Later, Berry."

I'm walking towards the door when I hear, quietly, "How are you getting home? You shouldn't be driving."

Damn. I mean, I'm sure she's probably right about that, but anyway, my car is parked at the football stadium. I turn around without even really meaning to and say, kind of to nobody in particular but she's the only person here and she's _obviously_ the only person talking to me, "I hadn't really given that much consideration. I suppose, under the circumstances, I'll be walking."

I'm just kind of standing there. And she's just looking at me. And it takes me a minute to notice, but she's smiling.

"_You_ are such a nerd. I'll give you a ride."

I try to scowl at her, but, like,_ it doesn't work_. And I wind up laughing. For no good reason. Again.

It's a short drive home, but I'm dozing as soon as my head hits the headrest. She's talking and I'm kind of nodding and making what I hope are agreeable noises, because, I mean, it is her car after all.

She nudges me when we're in my driveway, and i mumble "Thanks" and kind of stumble out of the car. I'm unlocking my front door when I hear her shout "See you tomorrow. 11am sharp!"

I'm crawling into bed when I process that thought.

_Fuck._


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, before I can even begin to deal with the fact that last night apparently _happened_, I'm woken up by a knock on my bedroom door.

"Santana, we're home. Come downstairs for breakfast, mija."

At this point I realize that there are, like, noises in my house. And... smells. _Bacony_ smells.

God. I'm only human.

I pad down the stairs in my slippers because, as usual, the a/c is pumping high and the house is pretty cold. My dad is sitting at the table reading the paper while my mom fries up all manner of earthly delights on the stovetop. "Coffee..." I groan.

"Get your own coffee, Santana, you have arms and legs." He doesn't even look away from the paper but I can tell he's smiling anyway. Whatever. He loves me, not that I can really blame him, I'm pretty fucking awesome. I slouch to the coffeemaker and pour myself a mug (Black, no sugar. I don't fuck around) and grab an ice cube from the freezer so I don't have to wait too long for it to cool. I'm taking my first sip and wondering if sunglasses could be considered appropriate for the breakfast table when a plate of scrambled eggs, homefries and bacon is slid in front of me. "I love you Mami..." I sigh before digging in. She slaps me on the back of the head, but, like, in a nice way. Whatever. This breakfast is worth it anyway.

"And how is school so far?"

"Same old same old. I'm ahead in all of my classes," which is both sad and true, unfortunately. You know, except for English. Which I can't even think about right now because it's 10:30 and I am really hoping that 11 rolls around and nothing happens. I mean, I've had weirder dreams than that before (Seriously, you really don't want to know.)

But, yeah. Breakfast passes pretty much silently, besides the sounds of chewing and sipping, and, God, people are so fucking loud just by _existing_. I answer a few questions here and there, and yeah, I even ask a few, because I'm_ polite_, but before long I am starting to feel a little crowded by all the food sounds and rustling newspapers and dishes being washed and, like, the sound of _breathing_, and I think about just going back to bed. But I look at the clock, and it says 10:59, and after that it says 11:00, and then the doorbell rings, like, instantly, like it's fucking _magic_, and it is suddenly too late to go back to bed.

So, I'm in my sweats, and my hair is seriously disgusting (like, I think there are _twigs_ in it) and I haven't even showered or brushed my teeth, and not that I care about what she thinks, but I've got a reputation to uphold. And that reputation is, in a nutshell, _hot_. So I go to bolt out of the kitchen and up to my room but my mom catches my arm and looks me in the eye like "Santana, get the door please." Ugh. There is just no reasonable way to say no to that. The best I can do is roll my eyes, which I do, obviously, and go to the door. Maybe I'm acting like a toddler, but whatever, nobody is paying attention anyway.

"Santana, good morning-" She's talking as soon as I open the door. She looks like, well, Rachel Berry. All clean and preppy and absurd in her stupid cute polka dot dress (I guess it's still too hot for reindeer sweaters) and she's, like, smiling. And_ awake_. By comparison, I can only imagine that I look like that girl from The Ring. I squint at her and just kind of turn around (slowly) and slump up my stairs. She's an actress, she should be able to recognize her cue when she sees it.

I grab some jeans and a tanktop and bring them into the bathroom with me. I don't want to say that I take my time in the shower, because that would be, like, rude or whatever, but I sure as hell don't rush. The hot water feels good, and I flip it to cold at the end for a second and that feels maybe even better. Just standing in front of that open door for a minute had made it pretty obvious that today is going to be hot. I get dressed and towel dry my hair as best I can before throwing it in a ponytail. Brush my teeth, a little makeup, and finally I look enough like myself to at least _pretend_ to deal with this situation. I come out of my bathroom and Berry is...

Not here.

_Okay_. Unexpected but hardly an unpleasant surprise. Seriously, though, what else does she have to be doing right now? She was doing homework on a friday night, if my memory serves me correctly (which would generally be debateable, but since she showed up here this morning I've decided to trust the rest of my hazy recollections of last night's events.) I don't particularly want to be tutored, but like... I mean, if hanging out with Berry is, like, the lowest you can go, getting blown off by her must be totally off the charts, right? I'm kind of even frowning, like, scrunching my face a little but not really on purpose, when I walk into the kitchen for more coffee and suddenly have to wonder how I didn't hear any of this at all until I got into the room. My dad has abandoned his paper and is laughing, my mom has turned her back to the dishes in the sink and is _also_ laughing, and Rachel is looking over her shoulder at me and smiling, like we're actually _friends _or something.

There are way too many people in my house right now.

"Library," I grunt, jerking my thumb towards the front door as I turn around. I grab my book bag and head out to Rachel's car but it's locked. I have to stand there, in my own fucking driveway, for like five more minutes before she comes waltzing out like some kind of Munchkin princess, like, off to see the fucking wizard or whatever. "It's a glorious fucking day in the neighborhood, Your Highness," I say as we're getting into the car. Her smile kind of falters and she looks, i don't know, confused, which, I can't really blame her considering that that made no sense whatsoever. But it sounded mean, and that's what I was going for, so I am not all that worried about it.

She's got the radio on low, and is, blessedly, _not_ singing along, but she is humming a little. And I kind of gross myself out by not being grossed out by it, if that makes any sense? When we get there, I walk ahead without waiting for her and head to the basement; there's a reading room just outside the children's section that nobody ever uses. It doubles as storage for books that are too big for the standard shelves. There's this old book of, like, Disney animation cels with huge color plates that I used to be obsessed with when I was a kid (shut up.)

Anyway.

The first quarter of my makeup work is actually just one book, but it's The Scarlet Letter, which, yeah. I'm a pretty fast reader, but this is just a_ chore_. I take out my copy of the book and my notebook and get down to business, like, the sooner we start the sooner I can go home, or, well, go somewhere. I don't really feel like going home for whatever reason. Rachel has work of her own to, and we're at it for an hour or so in complete silence (practically a miracle, considering the company I'm keeping) before she finally gives in to her compulsion to open her mouth.

"So, how are you enjoying the book so far?"

"How do you think I'm enjoying it, Dobby?" I squint at her and shake my head. She, like, _chuckles_. I squint harder.

"Not very much, I take it. Would you mind if I at least look over your notes, just so that I might have something to tell Mr. Henderson when he inevitably asks me for the progress report I've been studiously avoiding having to give him for the past week?"

Whatever. I roll my eyes and slide my notebook across the table to her with a not-very-sweet smile. She ignores me and just shakes her head and looks down at my notes. I'm bored. I get up and walk around the room, running my fingers over the spines of the oversized books on the wall until I come to the Disney book. I've got my middle finger on the top of the spine, about to pull it off the shelf, when-

"Very good."

"Okay." What does that even mean? "What does that even mean?"

She looks at up at me through her eyelashes, not like that, but like, I don't know, in a nice way. "It means I honestly don't think you need a tutor so much as an alarm clock."

Yeah, I laugh a little at that. I can't help it, because, really, she's not _wrong_. I sit down again and grab my notebook back but I guess I'm smiling, because she is definitely smiling at me. I guess it's a little naive to imagine that she could just leave it at that, but-

"I mean it, Santana. You're clearly very smart. You just need to apply yourself. There is no excuse for failing your classes just because you can't be bothered to drag yourself to school in the morning. I don't know what your goals are, but, assuming you mean to have a career of any substance, it's safe to imagine that you will be expected to-"

Okay. Just, _no_.

"Hold up. Do not talk to me about "applying myself", Berry. My grades are probably better than_ yours _are, and I have Cheerios on top of Glee. Hell, lately? I do nothing _but_ apply myself. And you can let _me_ worry about my _goals_, okay?"

"And yet, you failed English."

"_And yet_, I passed everything else. It's not my fault Artie was in that cl-"

Shit.

She's looking at me, like, _ugh_. I look away. I know I have tears in my eyes but I'm just kind of trying to will them back in because if I have to wipe them away I might have to, like, murder her for having witnessed it, and I am not trying to spill blood in the library. It's like, sacred or something. I glance over at her in the corner of my eye and she just, like, won't stop _looking_ at me like she _cares_, or at least like she's really good at _pretending_, and I just can't fucking be here anymore. I start putting my stuff away in my bag under the table and take the opportunity to rub my eyes real quick. By the time I look up at her my face is like stone (I have learned at least one thing from Quinn over the years, I guess).

"Can you drop me at the football field? I left my car there last night."

She just nods and doesn't say anything. We walk back to her car in silence, but I forget to walk ahead this time. On the way over to the football field, she still keeps the radio on low. She doesn't hum.

"See you monday..." She says as I'm getting out.

"Whatever." I slam the door and get into my own car.

I stay there for a long time after she pulls away.


	7. Chapter 7

I drive.

I don't really have anywhere to go, so I don't actually _go_ anywhere for most of the day. I just drive around aimlessly to put off going home. My parents may not be home very much, but when they are, they insist on _parenting_. And not like I don't appreciate the effort, but right now I just don't feel like talking. Or listening. My phone is on silent; if they ask, I can just say I forgot to put the ringer on after I left the library. I just need a minute. Or, like, _a day_.

After a few hours, without really planning it, I wind up at the rock. I park, figuring it can't hurt to stretch my legs a bit, and this is as good a place as any. There's nobody here this time of day, but _damn_. We really make a mess of this place. Beer cans everywhere. I wonder who usually cleans this up (not like there's anything I can do about it, I don't like, carry around garbage bags or anything.) I'm just kind of poking at the cold fire pit with a stick, and, like, how is it even possible to be this bored while also feeling so fucking uninterested in doing anything? I mean, I'm interested in graduating. I'm interested in college, or, if not college, in whatever comes next. But between now and then? There's just, like, nothing. It's a fucking vacuum.

Jesus. I need a hobby.

But for now, I'll settle for a nap.

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I'm woken up by voices. It's still light out, so I can't have been out for too long. Hot as it is outside, it's cloudy, thank god, so at least I'm not waking up to a sunburn. I sit up (I'm lying in the same place as last night) and am greeted by the startled faces of Puck and Quinn, of all people.

Shit.

What kind of a freak spends their saturday napping in the woods? And of fucking course it had to be Quinn to see me like this. I go on the offensive, because, hell, what do I have to lose.

"A little early for a party, isn't it? What are you two up to, anyway?" I smirk at them as if it's totally normal for me to be, like, popping up from behind a log in the middle of the wilderness. But, whatever, somehow it seems to work; Quinn looks fucking _spooked_.

"I lost my phone last night, I thought it might be around here somewhere."

I raise a brow at Puck.

"We were both at Finn's but he had to help out Burt at the shop, so I offered Quinn a ride."

I stand up and brush off my jeans, rolling my eyes at them as I walk by. I make sure to nudge Quinn with my shoulder, because why not. "Well, I haven't seen any _phones_ lying around, but happy hunting." I smile and, like, wiggle my fingers in a wave before turning around and walking back to my car.

I drive straight home. I've had about as much weekend as I can handle at this point and it's barely dinnertime. This town is a fucking _minefield_.

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Monday morning I think I'm actually happy that the weekend is finally over, until I get to Cheerios practice. Quinn is on the warpath, and Brittany seems to have remembered that I exist. I spend almost two hours being bounced back and forth between Quinn's "constructive criticism" and Britt's full body hugs like a human ping pong ball. By the time I get to home room I can barely remember my fucking _name_. I'm practically relieved when Britt drops my pinky and skips over to Artie at his locker. So, there's that, I guess.

I am half asleep until lunch. When I sit down at the Cheerios' table, Quinn's mood doesn't seem to have improved by much, but at least she isn't focusing her rage on me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised when following the direction of her glare leads me straight to Rachel Berry.

"Jeez, Fabray, stare much? I seriously doubt she's going to lead you to her pot of gold." She doesn't even glance at me.

"Oh my God, San, is Rachel Rory's sister?"

Huh? When did Brittany get here? I turn to her and try to keep my facial expression, like, diplomatic. "Britt, what are you talking about? Who is Rory?"

"Duh, San, he's my new leprechaun." She rolls her eyes and nudges my shoulder like it's common knowledge or something, and, frankly, I just don't even know where to begin so I just turn back to Quinn.

"Earth to Quinn..." I wave a hand in front her face, like, _nobody_ is allowed to ignore me.

She turns sharply to look at me, glare still in full force. "What?"

"Uh, you're just looking a little "criminally insane" right about now, is all. What did Berry do now?"

She kind of shakes her head like she's just waking up or something before she answers. "She's auditioning for the lead in West Side Story-"

"Obviously, what else would you expect?"

"Yeah, well, forgive me if I'm not that excited about the prospect of watching her in a love story opposite Finn." She's not even looking at me anymore. I just roll my eyes. Seriously? Finn as Tony? I _really_ don't think she has anything to worry about there but, whatever, she can hang on to her leading-man illusions if she really wants to.

Finn doesn't even wind up auditioning. Puck does, but when the cast list is posted a week later, Blaine gets the part. I guess Kurt auditioned too, but, just, _please_. Berry and Wheezy battle it out for the lead and, after some apparent controversy I choose not to pay any attention to, Berry winds up getting the part (Okay, I might not like her at all, but seriously? Between those two, Rachel is the _obvious_ choice). I mean, I could have beat out both of them but, whatever. I audition for Anita and I nail it, obviously.

Despite the fact the Artie is directing (for some ridiculous reason Mr. Schue obviously just pulled out of his ass), I'm honestly looking forward to this. I mean, contrary to what it looks like, I'm not _actually_ a hermit. It's not like I want to be by myself all the time, I just don't actually_ like _any _people_. But, I mean, it's the same as Cheerios or Glee. I can be around people without really having to deal with them directly. It's, like, the best of both worlds. The illusion of socializing without the burden of having to actually _converse_ with anybody. Plus, besides some baby Cheerios and freshman football players that Coach Bieste dragged in to be backup dancers, it's all Glee kids. And I mean, it's only because they are so painfully uncool that there is no pressure whatsoever, but, like, they're relatively easy to be around (They're still annoying as hell.)

I'm kind of psyched to tell my parents about the play, but when I get home they are obviously not there. Feeling vaguely sociable, I text Sam to see if he wants to come over for some movies or whatever, but he apparently has to talk Mercedes out of quitting Glee in protest over losing the part to Berry or something. Jesus, how did I wind up surrounded by so many fucking insane women? Probably because I'm already thinking about insane chicks and I'm pretty unimpressed with Mercedes' bullshit right now (and who else am I going to text, okay), I shoot a text to Rachel.

**Santana Lopez - Way to go, Maria ;)**

Shit. That emoticon somehow looked like a smirk before I hit send. Now it looks, like, _pleasant_. I shake my head, because, like, too late now, and just throw my phone on the kitchen counter. I'm making myself a salad for dinner when I hear my phone vibrate behind me. I finish up and bring my phone and my dinner to the living room so I can watch TV while I eat. Before I dig in I check the message-

**Berry - Thank you :) I understand congratulations are in order for you as well. ***

I roll my eyes, because, seriously, even in text messages she talks like a lunatic. Yeah, I mean, I'm smiling a little, but only because she is so completely ridiculous. She sends another message while I'm re-reading the last one for the third time (There is nothing decent on TV tonight)-

**Berry - We'll almost certainly need to arrange some rehearsal time outside of school. While I'm sure Artie has the best of intentions, he is as yet unproven as a director, and as the two most dynamic performers in this production, I believe it is our responsibility to set the tone for the rest of the cast. ***

And another one-

**Berry - We can agree on a plan at our next tutoring session, which I have taken the liberty of scheduling for this Thursday after Glee. ***

And finally-

**Berry- Goodnight :) ***

I can only shake my head before collapsing back onto the couch. I swear to God._ Insane fucking women_.

I am still shaking my head by the time I finish my dinner. It's 6:30. I just go straight to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

As a matter of pride, I still refuse to let Berry walk with me from English class to glee. I mean, at this point it is obviously a purely symbolic protest, but whatever. I might need her to pass English, and I probably need her to ensure that this play isn't a total embarrassment, but I sure as hell don't need her to get from one classroom to the next. When I hear the familiar wet slap of slushie-on-face a few yards behind me, I only feel a _little_ bit guilty.

When she finally gets to glee, even later than Mr. Schuester, I don't bother to glare at her when she takes the seat next to mine. I look up at Kurt since she usually sits next to him, but he is deliberately avoiding her gaze. No idea what _that's_ about. Regardless, I'd normally make her sit on the floor, but whatever. She already looks pathetic enough. And anyway, she's all wet and I don't want her dripping all over the floor; it's, like, _a dance hazard_. She doesn't look at me, just stares straight ahead, but I can tell she's fucking furious. Apparently not at me, anyway, because she quietly asks me what she's missed (still just staring straight ahead). "Not much. Mercedes sang some power ballad to prove... _something_. I don't really know. It was good."

Okay, so I don't know if this is just to appease Mercedes for the whole Maria fiasco (Like, how do you solve a problem like Maria, right? Oh, God, just _kill me now_), but Mr. Schue's latest plan for sectionals is some neo-soul setlist that highlights pretty much everybody _but_ Rachel. I should probably be more invested in this discussion since I would be basically guaranteed a solo if we stuck with this game plan, but after the whole slushie thing I guess this is the last straw or whatever and Berry goes fucking _ballistic_, and all I can do is just sit back and observe the carnage. Normally her tantrum would piss me off, or maybe put me to sleep, but today for some reason it is just the height of entertainment. She's all up in Schue's face, or like, _trying_ to be, except she barely comes up to his shoulders. She's pointing fingers and, like, _scolding_ him. And Mercedes is up in _her_ face, and Sam is trying to pull them apart. Kurt is standing on the risers, rolling his eyes, with a hand in the air talking about _something_ but his voice doesn't carry over the rest of this mess and I doubt it's important. Everybody else is just kind of hypnotized, except for Finn who is smiling at the opposite corner of the room, for some reason. This goes on for at least a half hour before Schue dismisses us with a promise to reconsider the setlist (Not that it matters, I mean, he'll be revising our setlist until the day of the competition if history is anything to go by).

I mean, I weigh my options at this point. I seriously consider making a break for it, but, like, Berry knows where I live. And as amusing as her wrath has been today, I am not that into the idea of having it focused on me. So I just bite the bullet and wait in my seat, staring off into space while everybody else files out in a similar post-mayhem stupor. I'm brought back to consciousness by her voice-

"Santana, If it's alright with you I'd prefer to hold our meeting at my house today." She says it softly but, I don't know, there's still some steel there and I just nod my agreement. Not that it matters where we meet anyway, and this way I can just leave if (when) she annoys me.

I follow her car even though I already know how to get there.

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When we get up to her room she immediately goes into her bathroom and changes into some sweats, throwing her wet clothes into one of two hampers. Okay, yeah, so that's why she wanted to come to her place. _Mystery solved_. Not that I was even really wondering.

By now she knows that I don't really need any tutoring, so she just takes notes about _my_ notes so she can give Mr. Henderson a progress report. I try to work on some other subjects in the meantime, but it's hard to concentrate because she keeps, like,_ sighing_. Ugh. I try to ignore it, but after a few minutes it's pretty clear that it won't do me any good, so-

"Okay, _fine_. I'll bite. What are you clucking about, Chicken Little?"

She tries to glare at me, but, whatever, she _obviously_ wants to say something so I just wait it out. After a few seconds, she, like (seriously) swoons backwards on her bed with her arm thrown over her forehead and sighs dramatically. I roll my eyes, because there is really no other way to react.

"It's Kurt," she sighs (Seriously? Enough sighing.)

"_What's_ Kurt?"

"He's not speaking to me."

"Okayyy. And why, may I ask, is he "not speaking to you"?" This is like pulling teeth.

"Well, he's taken issue with the fact that I have entered into the running for Class President against him, despite my assurances that it's not personal. I attempted to explain to him that he should welcome the honest competition, really; it will only force him to campaign to the best of his abilities. Furthermore, we've been competing for solos in glee for years and it's never turned-"

"Wait, you're running for Class President? That's _insane_." Yeah, she doesn't like that reaction. I try again, because, whatever.

"I mean, okay, just listen to me. Class President is _literally_ a popularity contest. You don't stand a chance."

She sits up, like, huffing indignantly, and looks like she's about to scold me like she did Mr. Schuester-

"Santana, I'll have you know-"

"No. Stop. For once? I am _not_ being mean, here. This isn't about what _I_ think of you. You have _dried slushie_ in your _hair_, for God's sake. _That's_ your voting block, right there. And besides, do you even _want_ to be class president? It's just extra work that has absolutely nothing to do with the future you've been talking about nonstop for the past, like, forever."

She still doesn't look happy, but I think she's at least listening. "Admittedly, I don't necessarily want to _be_ Class President, but I want to be able to _say_ that I _am_ Class President. It could be the one thing on my college applications that sets me apart from the next person."

"Okay, seriously? Your resume is already impressively complete, practically to the point of _insanity_. I bet you're even including that one game you played on the football team," I joke, like, I'm just trying to lighten the mood, you know? She just looks sheepish and starts talking at, like, lightspeed-

"That is an honest inclusion, Santana, we could not have won that game, which was _the State Championship game_, I might add, without my contributio-"

I am seriously fucking slackjawed. This girl is out of her mind. "No fucking _way_, Berry..." I can't help it; I fall right down on the bed next to her, cracking up laughing. She doesn't exactly laugh, but she rolls her eyes and kind of smiles sadly at the floor.

"I guess you're right. Not about the football thing, which I maintain is completely legitimate, but... I guess I don't really need Class President. Not as much as Kurt does, anyway." Finally. Plus-

"Plus, it's not like he'll win either. Britt is running, and, as I unfortunately know _all too well_, everybody loves her. She's a lock." She scowls at me, but I just shrug, like, it's just true. "It's true. You may as well salvage your friendship because that is seriously all either of you can possibly take from this election."

She looks at me for a minute and then does that movie star swoon back onto the bed again and we both laugh. It's almost a nice moment._ Almost_. I have this awful urge to say something cheesy like "I would have voted for you", but i think it's just a mental gag reflex upon realizing that somehow, as disgusting as it is, that's actually probably _true_. But I obviously would never have admitted it to anybody, so I suppress the urge.

We hang out in silence for a bit. It goes on long enough that, even though we never actually did any work, I figure I should pack up my stuff and go home, when-

"Stay for dinner?"

Oh. That's new. I narrow my eyes at her-

"With your dads?"

She gives me this kind of confused look, like, _what does it matter_? And to be honest I don't really know why it matters, except, like, I feel like we're in this kind of once-in-a-lifetime bubble right now, where I don't actually want to rip her throat out when she talks. And, I don't know, but it has to be a pretty fucking fragile ecosystem for this shit to survive. So the idea of other people is just-

"No. They're working late. I had planned on making myself a salad, which is equally as easy to make for two people as for one, and since I've kept you here all afternoon I thought it only polite to offer."

I think about it, and, I mean, it's not _actually_ crazy. If I go home, I'm just going to make myself a salad anyway, and it's not like I have anything to do. But if I say yes, I'd basically be _admitting_ that I don't have anything to do, which, neither does she, but still. The tipping point is that, honestly? It's like the perfect temperature in here. My house is still too cold, despite the fact that it's not that hot out anymore and I'm not running the a/c at all. But it's nowhere near cold enough out to run the heat. My house is just _cold_. Somehow, this house is, like, room temperature. I mean, obviously, literally, but you know what I mean. In porridge terms it's, like, just right. So, I've already said yes in my brain, and I'm about to say it out loud, when we both hear the front door open and the sound of bags rustling-

"Rachel, honey, I'm home early. Anybody home?"

Yeah, this is _definitely_ crazy.

"Thanks, Berry, but I've got things to do tonight." She looks disappointed for maybe half a second but then she plasters a show smile on her face.

"Very well. I appreciate your help this afternoon; I am aware that _I _am in fact supposed to be helping _you_, but your advice was actually quite enlightening. Perhaps we can get together sometime this weekend to arrange a rehearsal schedule for our scenes together?" She's, like, _strictly business_, and it's actually impressive but also, like, kind of disappointing for some reason.

"Maybe, I'm pretty busy but I'll let you know." I give her my best Quinn Fabray, because, I don't know. The bubble has burst.

She walks me out and I kind of wave to her dad to be polite when he leans out from the kitchen to see what's happening, but I thankfully avoid any formal introduction.

"See you in school tomorrow..." Maybe I'm imagining it, but it looks like maybe there's a crack in her show face, like she forgets for a split second to try one hundred percent. Or maybe that's always what it's looked like, I don't know. It's not like I've ever looked very closely, okay? But, I mean, there must be something, because there has to be a reason that I smile at least a little bit when I'm about to turn to walk to my car and say-

"Hey, I'll let you know."


	9. Chapter 9

I do see her at school on friday. I'm not sure she sees _me_ though, due to the red sheet of cherry slushie in her eyes. I'm sitting in the caf with the Cheerios when it goes down. Quinn snickers and smirks as if it's the cleverest thing she's ever seen. I don't feel guilty. I mean, I had nothing to do with it, but, like-

"The slushies are getting pretty old, Q." I don't exactly mean to say it out loud, but, _whatever_. It's totally true. Quinn arches a brow at me, all, _how dare you challenge my authority_.

"Since when do you care what happens to Manhands?"

I don't, obvously.

"I don't, obviously. Which is why I don't waste any energy on slushying her for, what, like, the _thousandth time _now? I know you're calling the shots; those freshmen don't do anything on their own. Why do _you_ care so much?" Okay. I'm not really sure where that came from exactly, but it's actually a pretty solid point.

She doesn't look at me for the rest of lunch, so who even knows.

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We have an away game tonight, which means riding the Cheerios bus. On the way there I sit with Brittany, since it seems like a safe enough place to, like, _be friends_. I don't know if maybe I'm just out of practice in interpreting Britt-speak or what, but it's exhausting trying to keep up with her. It's all unicorns and fondue and robots and gang violence, and I know that at some point in the not too recent past this would have been the best part of my day, but right now? I am just tired. And I still have to cheer a whole football game.

Away games are always a drag. The only people who care enough to travel for games are alumni that can't let go of their _glory days _or whatever. It doesn't even matter that we win; I just want to get back to Lima. I sit with Quinn on the way back because it's either her or Brittany and I just can't subject myself to that again tonight. She reads a book for most of the drive back (I don't even check to see what she's reading; double English has pretty much robbed me of any interest I ever had in reading) and doesn't even really acknowledge my presence until we pull into the school parking lot. When we get off the bus she just follows me to my car and throws her Cheerios bag on the roof before I can unlock it.

"Uh, how may I _help_ you?" Like, really.

"Are you going to the rock tonight? I could use a ride." Her face is like a flashback to 7th grade or something. Just friendly and, like, _asking_. Her voice does shake a little bit, probably just not sure how to deal with actually sounding nice.

"Sure, come on." Whatever. Even if she has an angle, I'm headed there anyway. I like to show my face at least once a week to remind everybody that I'm still popular, even though obviously that's just an illusion at this point. But they'll remember seeing me here and by Monday there will probably be a rumor that I'm hooking up with yet another football player I've never even spoken to, and thus the status quo is maintained.

The football team hasn't arrived yet when we get there, but we just take beers from some underclassmen and shoo a couple of baby Cheerios off some prime real estate by the fire. We don't talk for a while, but it's vaguely comfortable. The boys show up; Finn stops by to give Quinn a kiss but then heads out into the field to toss a ball around with Puck. Once he's walking away, she kind of clears her throat and apparently decides that she does feel like talking.

"So, the play is coming up in a few weeks, and you've got a solo at sectionals. I guess it's your year, huh?" She's turned away from the fire and is just looking off into the distance, watching Finn and Puck.

"I mean I guess so. Right _now_ I have a solo but you know how those things go. By Monday that could change."

"Hmmm", she kind of hums out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure it will wind up being _The Rachel Berry Show_ as usual."

So, we've had a few beers by now. And I'm feeling pretty relaxed for once, so words just kind of start _happening_.

"Q, I just really don't get it. I mean, you only ever have to deal with her in glee. What's the problem? I don't think I've even seen her so much as _talk_ to Finn since sophomore year. I'm pretty sure she doesn't want your man."

"Yeah, well, neither do I."

Okay.

Looks like I'm not the only one feeling these beers. Her eyes get wide for a split second when she realizes what she just said, but then they narrow and her expression completely shuts down. But she doesn't stop talking. "He's perfect, right? Tall, handsome enough, nice. Dumb as a _post_, obviously, but in a completely safe way. He'll go to OSU on a football scholarship and then we'll move back here and my dad will give him a job somewhere. _Perfect_."

I don't say anything. I've never heard her speak this much about, like, anything, it's like she's in a trance or something and I'm curious ot see where exactly she's going with this. Plus I have no fucking idea what to say, anyway. She's still staring out at the field, watching the ball go back and forth between Finn and Puck. Mostly watching Puck.

"Rachel _Berry_ can do whatever she wants. She _gets_ whatever she wants. She gets the solos, the leads, whatever. Of course she does, she's _the best_. But she can just... She dated Jesse, okay, and he was our competition. She dated Puck, and he's way too good for her. Hell, she probably could have Finn if she actually tried. And it doesn't even matter, because she's getting out of here. You know? Just _look_ at them. Finn and Puck. They're _both_ going to wind up here. They're _both_ Lima Losers. But Finn is the _perfect_ Lima Loser, so he's what I get." She finally looks back at me. She shrugs; she looks kind of bitter, but mostly just sad.

"You want Puck." It's not a question.

"I have Puck, but I can't keep him."

I hand her another beer and we watch them throw the football back and forth for a while. I don't even know why I say it, but-

"I'm getting out too." It's not a question.

She, like, _appraises_ me for a second.

"Seriously, Q. It's not that complicated. Just go to college and don't come back. Don't you think you might be selling yourself a bit short if marrying _Noah fucking Puckerman_ is your yardstick for success?" I'm smirking at her. "I mean, I know you're _blonde_ but..." She slaps my shoulder, but she's smiling around the beer bottle she's holding to her lips.

After sitting quietly for a while longer, I'm starting to sober up. I stand up and stretch and look around. The party is still going, but it's starting to wind down. Brittany is asleep in Artie's lap on the other side of the fire; he's absently just playing with one of her hands as he argues with Sam about Astronauts vs Cavemen. I look back to Quinn, like, whatever, they're cute but I really _don't _need to see it.

"Hey, I think I'm gonna get going. Need a ride?"

She looks up and smiles, and again, it's an old-fashioned smile that isn't even a little bit scary.

"No thanks, I think I'll stick around and wait for Finn." She turns back to the field. I just nod my head once and walk back to my car. "See you at practice," I say over my shoulder.

I'm pretty sure she hums out an agreement behind me, but I don't look back. I'll take whatever I can get. If this is a truce, I'm not gonna question it.

I drive home (I'm pretty sober my now), and see my parents' cars in the driveway, but they're asleep when I get in so it's really no different than any other night. I lie awake for a while, I don't really know why. I'm not even thinking about anything in particular. Or, I don't know. Just, like, if I was with Brittany? If I really _had_ her? I might have stayed here for her. And for some reason I feel kind of guilty that, for probably the first time _ever_, I'm a little relieved that I _don't_ have her.

Before I fall asleep I send a text to Berry. I don't think I can handle any more socializing this weekend.

**Santana Lopez - Can't swing it this weekend, family stuff.**

It's late, so obviously she doesn't respond, but I still feel a little bad about it and can't really fall asleep. It's _annoying_. So I grab my phone again and send one more message-

**Santana Lopez - Thursday after Glee, my place this time?**

It's 2am. She's asleep. But, okay, shut up-

**Santana Lopez - We can even sing, or whatever.**

Okay. That's it. This is just _embarrassing_. I'm going to sleep. And I've almost fucking succeeded, when my phone vibrates on my bedside table and startles me back awake-

**Berry - That's perfectly acceptable. Goodnight, Santana. ***

I'm already holding my phone, so, whatever.

**Santana Lopez - Night, Berry.**


	10. Chapter 10

"Thursday after glee" turns into "Thursday after play practice after glee". Despite Rachel's concerns, and as much as I hate to admit it, Artie is working us hard. Of course, in true McKinley fashion, we were only given about three weeks to rehearse from casting to curtains, so we need all the practice we can get. We've been staying after school until at least 7 every night this week. It's completely exhausting, and there's not much I wouldn't prefer to being bossed around by Artie fucking Abrams, but it's somehow also kind of _fun_. And, like, I'm _good_ at it. So, I mean, it's a shitload of work, but seriously, Mr. Schue's last minute setlists and choreography make a three week rehearsal window seem almost _luxurious _by comparison.

But anyway, I had honestly forgotten about inviting Berry over tonight. I'm seriously not _deliberately_ being a bitch when I walk out of rehearsal without waiting for her, I'm just fucking tired and my brain is pretty much empty of everything except a very clear image of my couch and a strong craving for pajamas. I don't even notice her car following me home. In fact, I don't notice much of anything at all, apparently, because I practically jump out of my fucking skin when I am trying to unlock my door and I hear-

"It would have been polite-"

"Jesus, Berry! You scared the shit out of me..." I'm, like, clutching my pearls, or whatever. And now she looks scared of _me_. I roll my eyes and turn around to finally get the door open, and she just stands outside like it's a fucking _haunted house_ or something. "Seriously? If you're coming in, do it now. I am too tired for this shit."

I mean, it's not like she's never been here before, right? I toss my stuff in the hall and wave my hand, like,_ make yourself at home_. She's taking her jacket off and walking into the kitchen for some reason, which is fine by me. Maybe she'll make me dinner. "Wait there," I tell her as I head up to my room. I'm back five minutes later, having replaced my Cheerios uniform with sweatpants and an old t shirt. She's kind of milling around in the hallway with no real idea where to go, so I guesture towards the living room and dig my school stuff out of my bag.

I toss my notebook to her where she's seated herself on one end the couch and then pretty much collapse onto the other end with a book in my hand.

"Hey."

She just looks at me.

"Okay, so, I know I promised singing, but, like..."

"Oh, I completely agree. In fact I'm relieved to hear you say it. While I'm frankly surprised and impressed with Artie's demanding work ethic, I can't afford to risk overworking my voice, especially with sectionals coming up right after the musical."

"Right. I'm pretty much just singed out."

So, thank God I don't have anything due tomorrow. I'm trying to study while she looks over my English work but the words are, like, _swimming_ across the page. I blink a few times to refocus but this shit it just a lost cause tonight. I just throw the book over my shoulder and onto the floor and grab the remote turn on the TV. She gives me a look, so I give her one right back. It's my house; I'll do whatever I want. I even _growl_ at her a little, but she is undeterred.

"You really shouldn't neglect yo-"

"Oh my _God_, Berry," I sit up and just stare at her. "Give it a rest. Just _try_ telling me you're not completely exhausted right now."

She bites her lip a little and looks back at my notes for a minute and while I go back to watching TV until suddenly-

"Oh god, I really am exhausted, Santana. This week has been, just..."

"_Exhausting_?" I'm kind of a brat.

She rolls her eyes, but she drops my notebook on the floor and slumps back into the corner of the couch.

"Actually, it's been an eye-opening experience, This is what I plan to do with my life, you know.-"

"Oh, we _all_ know..."

"And, this? This is the kind of exhaustion I have to look forward to for the rest of my life. And that's if I'm even _successful_! If I'm not, well, then..." She really does look tired. She shakes her head just a little bit before leaning it back and closing her eyes, not like she's going to fall asleep or anything, but more like just to _reset_ or whatever. When she opens them again she just weakly throws her hands up, like, _the rest is history_. I just shrug at her, like, not to be harsh but, I mean, that sounds about right.

"What about you?", she asks me quietly.

"Hmmm?" I'm not really paying very close attention. Truth be told I'm kind of dozing.

"What do you want to do?"

Oh, _awesome_. If the whole Broadway thing falls through she could have a bright future ahead of her as a guidance counselor. I mean, How am I even supposed to _answer_ that question? I guess the easiest response would be "I don't know", which is probably true enough. There's always "I actually really love to sing, but I'm not sure I'm good enough and I have no idea where to even begin to make a career out of it." Or, maybe, "I think I'd make a kick-ass lawyer because I'm a genius and nobody can sling words like I can." The weird thing is that, out of everybody I know right now, I'd probably rather have this conversation with her than with anybody else. But, like, I'd still rather not have it at all. So-

"I want to watch this SVU rerun. I've never seen this one."

She rolls her eyes at me and sits up, about to start gathering up her stuff.

"What, you're really not even gonna stick around to find out who did it?"

She looks at me for a second, then looks at the TV and points at some random guy. "He did it."

"Have you seen this before, because, if so, you need to give me a fucking _spoiler alert _next time." I'm scowling at her but she seems to think I don't mean it and I'm beginning to think she's probably right.

"No, I've never seen it. But he's definitely the perp."

"The "perp", Berry?"

"Make fun if you must. I've spent a lot of time watching the Law & Order franchises; since they film in New York, they employ a lot of theatre actors. And my research has provided me with a certain amount of insight into the formula of the show. That man", she points again,"is the perp."

"Bullshit. I'll bet you you're wrong. Loser makes dinner." It's, like, 9 o'clock already and I haven't eaten since lunch.

She leans over to my end of the couch and extends her right hand. I cock an eyebrow at her but I accept the handshake. "Deal," she says.

40 minutes later, ADA Alexandra Cabot throws the book at Rachel's perp. She (Rachel, not ADA Alexandra Cabot) looks pretty fucking proud of herself. Cabot just looks like a super hot blonde sex robot, as always. Lawyer is starting to look like not a terrible career path.

Anyway.

"Okay. You win, although I am like 90% sure you cheated. So. What do you even _eat_?"

She follows me into the kitchen. It turns out vegan salad is pretty much the same as regular salad. _The more you know_, I guess. We eat quietly. I've made a conscious decision to not dwell on the fact that I just made dinner for Rachel fucking Berry in my own kitchen, because that way lies, just, _madness_. I look over at her and she's smiling as she eats.

"What are you so happy about? It's just a salad. I assume you eat this crap all the time considering you can't really eat anything else."

She just kind of laughs and smiles at_ me _now instead of at her dinner.

"We're hanging out."

"Um. _Sorry_?"

"You and I. We're hanging out."

"Well," I eat a cherry tomato to give myself a few seconds to figure out exactly how I'm supposed to respond to that. "I mean, you're tutoring me." Which sounds as stupid to me as it does to her.

I look over; she's just kind of picking at her food at this point. And, somehow, it's not really _bothering_ me _at all_.

"Okay, yeah. I guess we are hanging out." Because, honestly? Who even _cares_. I mean, besides Rachel, who has now flung herself onto me in a hug that could rival Brittany's. "Seriously, Berry? We might be "hanging out" now but I can still kick you out of my house any time..."

She lets go of me and looks a bit embarrassed but I just roll my eyes and throw an olive at her, like, _lighten up_.

After we eat, I think It's time to call it a night.

"Hey, Shortstack? Like, don't take this the wrong way, but I actually am going to kick you out. I have a long day tomorrow..."

She just nods; she looks exhausted too.

I walk her out and then go straight to bed. I'll shower in the morning.

I sleep like a _rock_.

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My Friday goes like this: Cheerios at 6am, school until 3, rehearsal until 5:30, football game until like 9:30. I skip the after party this time; they can survive without me for a week. I spend all day Saturday catching up on the work I put off all week.

On Sunday (she texted _me_, okay), I go over to Rachel's house and watch West Side Story, the movie version. Something about "inspiration" and "comparing and contrasting". I don't know. It's pretty good.

This time, we do sing. Or, more like, _I_ sing, while Rachel pokes me in the stomach and corrects my posture and and points at me "when it is appropriate to breathe". Like, when is it _not _appropriate to breathe? It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from screaming at her or dwarf-tossing her right out her bedroom window, but I manage somehow.

And, whatever. I sound even better when I leave than I did before.


	11. Chapter 11

We open on a Wednesday. Because pretty much half of the cast is on either the football team or the Cheerios, a Friday night show is out of the question. So we're doing Wednesday night, Thursday night, a Saturday matinee and then closing Saturday night. And of course I have to go to the football game on Friday too, like, no rest for the weary I guess. But whatever, it makes the week go by more quickly.

Everybody's parents show up for opening night, including mine, which is kind of amazing considering they are never around in the middle of the week. The show goes fucking great, in my opinion. I mean, obviously _I'm_ amazing, but Berry and Blaine somehow unearth some pretty convincing chemistry from God only knows where and really make it work. And, like, as much as I hate to admit it, Rachel kind of owns the whole show. Like, of course she can sing, but she's actually really _good_ at this. Not that I would ever tell her that.

After the show we're kind of on a high, so we all go to Breadstix. Mike's mom even lets him go, which is apparently a big deal since it's a school night. Our waitress does not look very excited at the prospect of dealing with the thirty teenagers swarming her section, but whatever, we order real food this time so she can just suck it up. Once we all have our orders in and our drinks in front of us, Berry stands up to give a toast and we all quiet down.

"If I may, everybody, I think for our first performance most of us did an adequate job, however, I do have a few notes regarding aspects that I think we can improve upon for tomorrow-"

Okay. So. Apparently not a toast after all. I throw the lemon from my iced tea at her to shut her up, to general approval from the rest of the table.

"Santana!" She's doing that thing again. Where she gets all scoldy like a kindergarten teacher or something. She's got her hands on her hips and everything. It's… forget it.

"What, Berry? It's a _lemon_. You're lucky I don't have my dinner in front of me or it might have been a meatball." I smirk at her and she just shakes her head and mumbles something under her breath as she sits back down. "Care to repeat that?"

"I was just saying that I sincerely doubt that you would waste a meatball in such a fashion, regardless of your desire to interrupt me." She's glaring at me as she says is, but after holding eye contact for a few seconds we both crack and smile a little. I shake my head and see Puck giving me a look. "What?", I kind of snarl at him. He just puts his hands up and looks away. God only knows.

Rachel looks kind of pouty since I shut down her non-toast, which, honestly. I wasn't trying to be a bitch, it just seriously wasn't the time. I take out my phone and text her under the table.

**Santana Lopez – Hey.**

I see her take her phone out of her purse and check it, she just makes eye contact and mouths "_What_?" instead of replying. I roll my eyes and text her again.

**Santana Lopez – Dude. We're hanging out. Like, all of us. **

When she reads it, she immediately snaps her eyes up to mine and, like, it almost looks like she's blushing. She's kind of smiling when she looks back down, and she actually responds this time.

**Berry – I am not a "dude." ***

I can only shake my head at that, because, honestly. But I guess I'm smiling, and she definitely is, so whatever. When I look back at her a few minutes later she seems to be having a conversation with a couple of the baby Cheerio backup dancers (or, like, she's talking and they just look kind of terrified, but whatever) so I guess she's over it.

We don't stay out too late. Obviously we have school tomorrow, plus another show tomorrow night. When I get home my parents are still up, which is just a really unfamiliar situation for me on a weekday. I collapse into an armchair in the living room because, I mean, they're here so I may as well say hi, right?

"Ahhh, the star of the show! How was dinner with your friends?", my mom asks me over the book she's reading. She's into romance novels, which, everybody has to have a hobby, I guess.

"I'm not the star, and they are _not_ my friends. Most of them anyway." Okay. I don't mean to be bitchy, but sometimes that's just what comes out. So I just kind of sigh and start over. "I guess it was okay. We went to Breadstix, so obviously the food was good."

"Well, mija, you were the star as far as we were concerned. Although, your friend Rachel was also very good." She looks over at my dad and they both nod.

It would probably be redundant to mention that she's not exactly my friend (it would probably also be a lie).

"Yeah, I'll be sure to tell her that. Her ego isn't nearly big enough as it is." Whatever. I probably actually will tell her, next time I need ammunition to distract her from being insufferable. So, probably like first thing tomorrow. "Okay. As depressing as it is to be going to bed before _your_ elderly asses," I keep talking even though my mom is giving me a serious mom-look, "I have to do this all over again tomorrow, so, goodnight." I get up and stretch and head for the stairs when my dad calls me back in-

"Oh, Santana. I had to move my schedule around to make it here for opening night. We're heading back to Columbus tomorrow and won't be back until late Sunday, or maybe Monday morning. I'm sorry to leave you alone all weekend, but it really was worth it to see you tonight, you were fantastic."

"Thanks, I'm glad you could make it. And, well, I'll live." After giving them a cursory eye-roll, I kiss them both on their foreheads before heading up to my room, because, I mean, it really was nice of them to show up.

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When I walk through the doors at school the next morning I'm met not by Britt's pinky but by a burly arm thrown over my shoulder.

"What do you want, Puckerman?" He lets go of me when we reach my locker and leans against the one next to mine with his arm above my head.

"Your parents are out of town this weekend. You're having a party Friday night."

"Okay. Number one? How do you know my parents won't be here? I just found that out a few hours ago."

"I have my sources," he smirks.

"Whatever. And anyway, we have two shows on Saturday. No way I'm doing that with a hangover."

"Fine, Saturday. It'll be like a wrap party. Come on." He's giving me these puppy dog eyes, like, honestly, how did this ever work on me before? But he kind of has a point. It would be nice to unwind after the last couple weeks.

"Whatever," I roll my eyes. "You're buying my booze. And you are definitely helping me clean up on Sunday."

"Deal." He raises his fist and I bump it reluctantly. This is probably a terrible idea, but, still. I haven't done anything but study all year. I've earned a little bad behavior.

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Thursday's show goes even better than Wednesday's. Rachel claims it's because of the hour-long notes session she forces us to sit through before we go on. I claim it's because we actually know what we're doing this time, but she ignores me (she's been ignoring me all day, for some reason.) The thing is, as great as the show is, there's like nobody there to see it. I mean, we kind of blew our load opening night in terms of friends and family, and it's becoming pretty obvious that a four show run is probably a little too ambitious for McKinley High. It's actually kind of embarrassing that it never occurred to any of us that nobody really cares about musicals in this town, except for Rachel Berry and her two dads, who have bought tickets to every performance and will probably be the only people in the audience for the Saturday matinee.

Dinner at Breadstix would almost be somber afterwards if it weren't for Puck. Apparently the OSU recruiter who's been hanging around practice this week gave him some good news so he's taking full advantage of the free Coke refills and toasting to pretty much anybody and anything he can think of. It's kind of annoying, but, like, good for him, really. He's definitely kind of an asshole, but I guess I'm happy for him anyway.

Friday's game is at home; pretty much everybody from the play who isn't actually on the team is in the stands (well, except for Rachel, but she only really shows up to sporting events when she's the halftime entertainment.) We win, which we've actually been doing a lot of lately.

After the game I hang around to wait for Puck so we can figure out how we're going to set up for tomorrow. He agrees to drop off the booze and some food and Solo cups and stuff before the matinee. I figure we can run out in between shows and pick up anything else we need. It's actually a pretty sweet deal; he's doing all the work and I won't even need to leave the comfort of my own house to enjoy it.

When I get to my car, Quinn is leaning against the back with her hands in the pockets of her letterman. She looks… something. "I'm not going to the rock, I've got a show in the morning," I tell her, because I'm not sure what else to say.

"Me neither. Can you give me a ride home?" I just kind of frown and nod and unlock the car. She turns and gets in without saying anything else. She's actually been pretty cool lately, so this attitude shift is, like, worrisome. I'm pretty sure I haven't done anything to piss her off recently but that won't necessarily stop her from taking it out (whatever _it_ is) on me. I look over at her before I start the car, but she's just staring straight ahead out the windshield. Okay. So I guess we're not talking. She doesn't say anything until I pull into her driveway.

"I broke up with Finn." She's still staring straight ahead.

"Okay." I mean, what else can I really say to that. She told me she wasn't into him, but, like, she doesn't exactly seem to be jumping for joy right now, so a "congratulations" probably isn't the right thing. So I just look at her and wait for her to either keep talking or get out of the car.

"OSU doesn't want him. The recruiter… he's not getting a scholarship."

"This all happened today?", I ask, because, just, _damn_. She hums out an affirmative and keeps staring out the windshield. "Damn, Fabray. I mean, obviously you're way too good for him, but, like, you couldn't have picked a better time? This is pretty cold, even for you." I say it pretty gently, for me anyway.

She shakes her head, finally looking at me. "I know. I just… I had to do it eventually, and this is an excuse I can use with my parents. This way I at least have a reason, you know?" She looks back out the window. "I know I'm a bitch…"

I just kind of shake my head. "We're all bitches." She almost smiles a little.

We just sit there for a few more minutes; I guess we're done talking. Before she gets out of the car I tell her to come to the party tomorrow because, whatever, she could obviously use a chance to let loose and we're kind of acting like friends occasionally these days, so why not.

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Puck actually shows up on time in the morning with the supplies. I'm kind of amazed, to be honest; I didn't know he was capable of getting up before noon on a weekend.

"Dude, I am fully committed to partying", he tells me with a completely straight face. I'd smack him but I don't want him to drop the cases of beer he's carrying. And, like, he has gone kind of all-out. Besides the obscene amount of beer now crowding my fridge and coolers, he also brought a ton of hard liquor and even remembered mixers for probably the first time ever. I might not even have to go to the store later at all, we're pretty well stocked. I don't even want to _know_ how much money he spent.

I got up early this morning to clean up (which pretty much just means getting everything breakable and/or embarrassing out of way), so I should just be able to come home after the show and enjoy myself.

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Okay, so, Rachel's dads really _are_ the only people in the audience for the matinee. I don't think I've ever felt more pathetic than I do performing America to an empty house. That is, until curtain call, when I'm taking a bow to a standing ovation of two crying Berrys. It's… yeah. It would be hilarious if it wasn't happening to me, but, whatever. And Berry Jr. is still in the mood she's been in since Thursday. Like, I get it, it sucks that nobody is coming to see our show, but I fail to see how that's my fault. She disappears after the matinee instead of just hanging around until the evening show with the rest of us, like, whatever. I don't know what her problem is but I really wish she would just get over it; this is our last show, and, I don't know, she should be able to enjoy it.

Well, it's better than the matinee, I guess. A lot of people roped their parents into coming back again, so we have something vaguely resembling an audience. The spirit-crushing experience of the afternoon show seems to have sapped our energy though, so our final performance isn't our best. I still kill it though, and Rachel's pout disappears the second she gets on stage.

"The two of us are the only real professionals in this place," I joke to her backstage afterwards, while we're getting rid of our makeup. She completely ignores me, like, fine. I've had enough of her bullshit. I'm about to go off on her when-

"San!" Brittany is on me before I stop her, but I'm pretty much used to it by now so I just laugh and kind of hug her back. "Can I ride with you? Artie has to wait for his mom and I don't feel like standing still. Hi Rachel!"

"Hi Brittany," Rachel smiles at her as if I'm not even here and, like, I don't even know.

"Sure, Britt. I'm heading out now anyway." I grab my stuff and start to leave, and, _God_. I roll my eyes because I don't even know why I'm doing this, but- "Need a ride, Berry?"

She actually looks at me for the first time today outside of the play, so I guess that's an improvement anyway. "No thank you, my dads are waiting."

"Fine. See you later." Whatever. I tried (for some reason.)

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When I get to my house, Puck is waiting on my front stoop.

"Dude, there are already freshmen, like, walking around the block trying to look casual. This party is going to be _epic_."

"Whatever. Just put some music on and hold it down while we get ready."

Well, Brittany is already ready, but she comes with me anyway, and it's actually nice. It's like, this is how it always used to be, you know? And, like, I would still totally jump her bones if she asked me to, no question, but apparently at some point it became possible for me to be in the same room with her without feeling like I just got punched in the gut, so, yeah. She's just dancing around to the beat from downstairs while I get ready. I keep my jeans on and just go with a tank top since it will definitely get hot in here once it's crowded, and just run a brush through my hair. It's my house, I don't need to dress up. When I come out of the bathroom, Brittany grabs me and starts to dance with me and it's, like, _not a big deal_. It's just Brittany.

There are already some people here when we get downstairs. Mostly freshmen who haven't learned how to be fashionably late yet; I barely recognize any of them but, whatever. Britt goes straight for the living room and starts dancing with some kid who looks like he's about to shit his pants, he really has no idea what to do with her. It's hilarious. I go into the kitchen to grab a beer and lean against the counter next to Puck.

"So," I figure I should warn him, "Quinn is coming."

"Cool, I guess."

"Listen. I _know_, okay? She told me."

He sighs and leans, like, _more_."It's kind of a mess, you know. Like, I think I really like her, but…"

"Finn."

He stares at his beer bottle and picks at the label. "Right. I mean, I know sleeping with my best friend's girl was a dick move. Like, I'm not stupid. But it's the kind of dick move people expect from me, you know? But dating her? That just seems mean or something."

"Yeah. I really don't follow your logic there, Puckerman."

"I get the scholarship, and now I get the girl too? I feel like I'm stealing his life or something." I take a deep sip of my beer because I am really too sober for this sentimental crap.

"Okay, you got the scholarship because you _deserved_ it. And if you do get the girl? It'll be because she _chooses_ you. You're not fucking Bowser or something, like, running off with the princess- Shut up, you're the one who forced me to watch you play that shit." He's cocking an eyebrow at me and grinning like an idiot. "Anyway, Finn will definitely be pissed, but what can you do? Just, I don't know, try to be happy, I guess." I smack him on the shoulder and grab another beer on my way to the living room.

Everybody's here at this point. Mike and Tina are dancing with Brittany. Quinn is talking to Artie for some reason. Kurt and Mercedes are getting excited about something while Blaine and Sam just, like, try to look interested. Even Finn is here, which could get awkward, but whatever. Like, everybody I know (and a hell of a lot of people I don't know) is seriously here right now, except for Rachel. It's stupid. And I'm maybe a little drunk. So I call her.

"Rachel Berry speaking." Obviously.

"Can it, hobbit. Where are you?"

"Santana, I don't appreciate you calling in the middle of the night to insult and interrogate me." God, she's just so...

"Whatever, it's like ten o'clock. Seriously though, you are pushing the limits of "fashionably late.""

"I don't really see how it's possible for me to be "late" to an event I wasn't invited to in the first place." Like, _what_?

"Nobody was "invited", Berry. It's a high school party, people just show up. I don't even know half the people here." Seriously, _this_ is what she's been pissed about all week? She's insane. "Okay, whatever. You're invited now. So just come over."

"I'll consider it."

She shows up 20 minutes later. I hand her a beer, which she looks at as if she's never seen one before.

"Okay, Speed Racer, so were you just, like, sitting around in your party dress waiting for me to beg, or what?" I mean, I didn't really _beg_, obviously. But anyway. She's still just standing there holding her beer. "It's a beer, Berry. You drink it. Like this." I take a deep sip of my own and let out an exaggerated sigh. She rolls her eyes and takes a small sip, and then furrows her brow in this weirdly cute way and, like, studies the bottle. "It's actually not that bad." I just shake my head and have another sip. "So now what?", she asks.

"Hmm? Now what _what_?"

"What do we do?" She's, like, from another planet.

"Um, it's a party? Mingle, I guess? Or dance. Whatever you want, basically. Everybody from glee is here, or you could corner some freshmen who haven't learned how to avoid you yet. Personally, my plan is to keep drinking these beers and try to make sure my house doesn't get destroyed."

She takes another sip of her beer, like a real sip this time, and she has this intensely serious look on her face. "Dancing sounds wonderful, I think I'll start there."

I just kind of laugh and point her towards the living room. "Okay, Berry. Go wild."

And, okay, maybe I should have worded that differently? Because when I go into the kitchen to get another beer a little while later, she's riding piggy back on Brittany and doing tequila shots.

"San, she's totally like a human backpack. But she won't let me put anything in her except drinks." I look up at Berry and arch a brow.

"Wanky."

She laughs as somebody hands her another shot. "When in Rome..." she says as she raises the shot glass and then tosses it back. Everybody in the kitchen echoes back, "WHEN IN ROME!" and takes their own shots, and, like, whatever. I pour myself one too, because I guess we're in fucking Rome tonight.

So. Glee kids? They can _party_. They're the last ones standing. Britt dances all night long until Artie's mom picks them up at 3 (which he claims she doesn't mind doing, but, just, _damn_.) Rachel winds up taking a turn getting piggy back rides from pretty much everybody at the party, but I finally put a stop to it when Finn almost lumbers her face-first into a chandelier (and even though they're broken up I'm glad Quinn disappeared a while ago; I get the feeling she still wouldn't be too pleased with this particular sight.)

"Okay, Frankenteen. The idea _really_ grosses me out, but you are sleeping on my couch tonight. We do not need your clumsy, drunk ass behind the wheel. And besides, Berry would make my life a living hell if I let anything happen to her "male lead" a week before sectionals." Not that we have a setlist yet, but a Finn/Rachel duet in pretty much guaranteed.

He just kind of grunts and collapses on the couch. I'm pretty sure he's snoring before he even _gets_ to the couch. Like, God's gift to women, everybody.

It's just me and Rachel left; we're sitting on the floor with our backs against the wall.

"Thanks for inviting me, Santana."

"Whatever. I guess I don't hate you anymore."

She laughs quietly and shakes her head. "You never hated me."

"Um, yeah, I _really_ did." I think I did, anyway.

"You don't really hate anybody, Santana. You're just...", she starts laughing a little and then winds up laughing a lot, and, well, she did kind of drink a lot tonight but I seriously have no idea what's going on right now.

"I'm just _what_?" She tries to stop laughing and put on a straight face, but it's not exactly working.

"You're a curmudgeon."

"Excuse me?"

She's, like, cracking up.

"You're... you're a grumpy old man, Santana." Okay. I should probably be offended by that but, I don't even know. "You're like those old people at the supermarket who come in everyday and complain about the price of day-old pastries, but you still buy them every day. _You're_ a grumpy old man, and _we're_ your day-old pastries."

"Day-old... what are you even _talking_ about?" I'm cracking up now too, because she's insane, and because... God. Because it's the weirdest, dorkiest thing anybody has ever said to me but it's also... I think I'm _actually_ friends with _Rachel Berry_. "Okay, whatever. And I obviously can't let my goddamn _day-old pastries_ drive home drunk, I mean honestly, pastries probably shouldn't be driving at all, but yeah. You can stay in the guest room."

I stand up and grab her hand to hoist her up off the floor and we head upstairs. I get her some sweats from my room and go to show her to the guest room, but, like, mystery solved. We now know where Quinn and Puck disappeared to, and they are passed the fuck out. Rachel looks downright scandalized, which would be funny if it wasn't awkward as hell.

"Okay. So I guess you're staying in my room, unless that's a problem for you." Like, maybe if we pretend we didn't see that it will just go away, or something.

"_Quinn and Noah_!?", she stage whispers. She's like, clutching my arm as we walk back to my room.

"Just... Listen, Berry. It's complicated. And it's unfortunately only going to get more complicated if Finn is still on my couch when they wake up tomorrow. Just don't tell anybody, and try to stay out of it. Because for whatever reason, Quinn Fabray _really_ likes to blame shit on you. It could get messy. So lets just get some sleep and hope Finn is gone in the morning, okay?"

She doesn't really look like she's done talking, but she nods her head and keeps her mouth shut. She falls asleep almost immediately, and despite the fact that I am kind of stressing out about the mess I'm probably going to wake up to tomorrow, all the beers I drank (and something about the sound of her breathing) put me to sleep soon after. Small miracles, I guess.


	12. Chapter 12

My first thought when I realize I'm awake is "I am seriously cozy right now." My second thought involves going back to sleep instead of getting up and dealing with the literal and figurative messes waiting for me outside my bedroom door. As I'm attempting to execute thought number two, thought number three interferes by suggesting that maybe it's a little _weird_ that I am currently this cozy with Rachel fucking Berry. We're, like, _snuggling_. But, whatever, she's as sound asleep as I'd like to be, so apparently it isn't bothering her at all. And anyway, it's kind of hard to be too worried about it when I'm this fucking comfortable. She's like, the warmest thing _ever_.

"San, are you awake?" Damn. Maybe if I-

"No."

"You sound awake." Guess that didn't work. She tries to roll over so she's facing me but I, like, don't let her.

"I cannot _possibly_ be awake," I mumble. "Because if I'm awake, that means we have to get up, and we are definitely way too cozy in here for that." My logic seems fucking flawless to me, but she just laughs softly. I feel it more than I hear it. She stays quiet for a minute, but of course it doesn't last.

"Well, I _am_ awake." She doesn't even sound hungover, but- "And while I am feeling a little the worse for wear, I assume as a result of the alcohol I consumed last night, I refuse to waste my entire Sunday in bed with you." She grabs my arm that's been draped over her side and pushes it off, and then sits up on the edge of the bed. I just groan and roll onto my back.

"You are seriously the only person who has ever complained about the opportunity to "waste" _any_ time in bed with me, Berry."

"Santana!" She snaps at me.

I open my eyes a crack and can tell she's blushing, but she's smiling too. I crack up laughing but then I just have to groan; my head is pounding. "If you honestly insist on getting up, at least make yourself useful and grab me a couple aspirin from the bathroom." She stands up, shaking her head.

"You are a terrible hostess." She gets me the aspirin anyway. And a glass of water, which, bonus.

"Thanks." I toss back the pills and chug half of the water. "Now come back to bed, I'm getting cold." Maybe I'm whining, but whatever, it's true. And I'm probably still a little drunk, okay?

She just shakes her head some more and kind of clucks at me. "I told you I'm getting up. If you insist on staying in bed all day, be my guest-"

"It _is_ my house, Berry…"

"_But_, I won't be swayed by your laziness." She just keeps talking right over me and heads for the door.

"It's gonna be freezing out there, you'll be back!" I yell at her as she's leaving, which only serves to aggravate my headache. It also occurs to me that could probably have woken up the other people in the house, which would be bad, but whatever; too late now. It doesn't actually seem to rouse anybody though, and I drift back to sleep for a while.

I am woken up first by the smell of coffee, and second by the sound of yelling. I force myself out of bed and slouch my way down the stairs to see exactly what's going on, although I already have a pretty good idea. But I figure it'd be pretty rude to leave Rachel to deal with this since it has nothing to do with her. It has nothing to do with me either, but, like, what else is new.

So, Finn is in the living room with Rachel. He's looking bleary-eyed, but apparently the cup of coffee sitting on the table woke him up enough to drive him bat-shit insane. He's pointing and Quinn and Puck, back and forth like he can't figure out who to focus on, and is just kind of shouting half-sentences. Quinn and Puck are in the doorway; Quinn looks as mad as Finn does and is just glaring at Rachel. Puck is just looking down at the floor and Rachel is staring at me looking completely fucking terrified, like, deer-in-the-headlights style.

"What is going on?" Quinn of all people spins around and asks me, like, seriously?

"I just woke up, Q. You probably have a better idea than I do." Probably not the best approach, but honestly, what am I supposed to say? "Can I at least get some coffee before we do... whatever _this_ is?" I don't bother waiting for an answer, I just go to the kitchen and pour myself a mug before squeezing past Quinn into the living room and sitting on the couch. At this point, Finn has taken a seat at the other end and is just holding his face in his hands and kind of rubbing the bridge of his nose. I take a sip of my coffee.

"Mmm. Berry, did you make this?" She shoots me a look that's half terrified and half just confused. "Yes?" What? It's _good_.

"Enough, Santana. What is Berry doing here having a _pajama party_ with Finn?" Alright. I think it's safe to say that everybody is confused at this point. Like, how is this particular thing even an issue? I don't know where to begin, but luckily Rachel is more awake than I am, so-

"I slept with Santana!" Okay. So, not exactly the detailed and helpful answer I was hoping for. The confusion just keeps on coming.

"Hold on. And, no, not really, not like... _that_ anyway, so just… stop." I'm holding my hands up and trying to formulate some semblance of a response. "Okay, Quinn? Finn and Rachel were too drunk to drive home. Finn passed out on the couch, Rachel slept in my room. Which she wouldn't have even _had_ to do, except that _you_ were sleeping in the guest room." She's glaring at _me_ now for the most part, but she doesn't seem to have anything else to say for herself. We're all just kind of staring at eachother.

"Where did Puck sleep?" Finn asks so quietly I can barely even hear it. He kind of rubs his face and looks up and asks again, louder. "Where did you _sleep_, Puck?"

"Dude…" Puck just shakes his head. Finn walks right up to him and just looks at him; Puck doesn't move but he doesn't meet Finn's eyes either. Without looking away from Puck-

"Need a ride, Rachel?"

"Um, no thank you, Finn. I have my car."

"Fine." He pushes past Puck and grabs his coat on the way out the front door. Less than a minute later we hear his car tearing off down the road. Quinn and Puck are still standing in the doorway; nobody's saying anything, and it's still pretty awkward in here.

"So…" I break the ice. "Breakfast?"

"I have to go." Quinn blurts our before I've even finished talking. She doesn't look mad anymore; she just looks panicked. Puck looks over at me-

"San, are you okay if I…"

"Fine, whatever. You owe me some housecleaning, though." I roll my eyes, but honestly I'm glad they're leaving. Nothing good is going to come from Quinn and Rachel in the same room when Q is this upset. It's dangerous.

Once they're gone, I lean back on the couch and close my eyes. I start to laugh after a while, until I'm actually laughing pretty hard.

"Santana, what could you possibly find amusing about this situation?" God. I had, like, forgotten she was still here.

"Oh, come on, Berry. Did you see how Quinn actually tried to blame _you_ for all that? She's a _menace_. If it weren't so screwed up I'd probably applaud. Maybe _she_ should be the one applying to law school." It is pretty screwed up though. And as cool as Quinn has been lately, I'm not looking forward to what she might be like tomorrow morning at school. I'm not laughing anymore. Rachel is slumped on the end of the couch Finn had been sitting on before.

"I just feel terrible for Finn. He looked so hurt."

"Well, yeah. It sucks to be cheated on. Or, like, I assume it does anyway…"

"I thought they were broken up?" Uh oh.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you know, whatever. Can we just have breakfast?" I get up and drag her off the couch by her arm and into the kitchen. I sit at the island. I mean, I cooked last time, so… She's just standing there looking at me.

"You really are a terrible hostess. Is there even anything here I can eat?" Ugh. "I dunno, fruit, maybe?" I just kind of wave my arms at the fridge and the cupboards, but I stand up after a second. I figure it's pretty unlikely that she's going to make me eggs. "Fiiiiine. I'll cook. Again." I roll my eyes at her, like, _don't get used to it_.

Anyway, my breakfast-making skills are on point. I chop up some potatoes and throw them in a pan in some oil to start while I slice some onions, peppers and mushrooms. After the potatoes are tender (which, seriously, why do potatoes take so long to cook?) I pour off most of the oil and toss the vegetables into the pan to sauté with salt and pepper while Berry makes herself useful at the toaster. When it looks about done a scoop half onto a plate and then grate some cheese onto what's left in the pan and crack a couple eggs on top.

I hand Rachel the vegan plate and sit down across from her with my own deluxe version of breakfast. "Do you need, like, ketchup or something?", I ask while I'm grabbing hot sauce for mine.

"No, hot sauce is fine."

"Hot sauce is not fine, it's _amazing_. But here," I say as I slide it across to her. "By the way, I hope you appreciate the fact that there is a pound of bacon in the fridge that I didn't cook just to spare your delicate vegan feelings."

"Such generosity," she rolls her eyes at me and takes a bite. "Wow. This is actually very good."

"Damn right it is."

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After breakfast she insists on hanging around to help me clean up, since Puck bailed. I don't argue; I hate cleaning. Anyway, it's not that bad. Just a few garbage bags full of empties and a lot of checking behind and under furniture to make sure we haven't missed any bottles that would be incriminating if they were to be discovered by my parents. We drive to Breadstix to throw the trash in their dumpster because I don't want my parents to question it. And because I want me some 'Stix (whatever, I'm sure I'll work it off at cheerios practice tomorrow.)

She hangs out and looks over my English stuff while I do my homework (she apparently did hers on Friday night, which, that's just so Berry.) At around six she looks at her phone and kind of groans. "My dads want me home for dinner. I should go; we do have school tomorrow after all."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for... whatever."

I get up with her and get her coat before walking her to the door.

"You're welcome to come if you want. For dinner, I mean." She's blushing, which, come on. That's just dorky. I almost say yes, honestly. But, like-

"My parents should be home pretty soon actually. I ought to be here when they get back. Thanks for the invite though. Another time."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

"Yup. See ya."

After she leaves I do one last sweep of the house to make sure I haven't missed anything, but it's clean. And empty. And cold, as always. I lie down on the couch and flip the TV on to wait for my parents to get home.

I wake up there at 5am when the alarm on my phone goes off.

I just roll my eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Monday morning at Cheerios practice everything seems normal. Brittany is bubbly, Quinn is… not. But, I mean, that's hardly unusual for her. She says hi to me, anyway, for whatever that's worth. There's not a lot of time to chat anyway; the Cheerios are skipping the football game on Friday night for our Sectionals competition and Sue is running us pretty ragged. Again, though: hardly new. I'm not worried, we'll totally win. I'm much more concerned about Glee Sectionals on Saturday, since we still don't have even an outline of a set list. Again.

"Any ideas for Sectionals songs, Q?" We're getting dressed in the locker room after practice. I'm not usually into small talk, but whatever. I'm trying to figure out if we're cool after yesterday and this seems like a fairly neutral topic.

"Seriously, Santana? Rachel Berry is starting to rub off on you."

"That's hot," Britt says with a completely straight face. I high five her for it, if only for the look of utter disgust it earns from Quinn.

"Whatever, Fabray. I'm not really into the idea of getting up on stage with some half-memorized original garbage like we did at Nationals last year. We looked like idiots up there. I don't want a repeat."

"Okay, number one? Can we please not talk about Glee in here?", she asks, looking around at the other cheerios in the locker room. Like, whatever. Everybody knows we're in Glee by now. It's been like three years. She's just being difficult. "And second: It doesn't matter what songs we come up with. Berry and Blaine will overrule them and come up with their own set list anyway." Which is actually probably not too far off, except-

"Oh come on, Blaine has barely spoken 2 words in Glee this whole year"

"But he's sang, like, a bazillion," Britt says, nodding her head as if she's agreeing with herself. "I don't care what we sing. I'm gonna dance and it'll be awesome."

"Damn right, B." I'm laughing as we leave the locker room with our pinkies linked, Quinn leading the way in front of us. Kurt and Mercedes are huddled by his locker; they turn and walk the other way when we walk by, like, _okay_. We're not exactly close, but it's weird that they don't at least say hi to Britt.

The rest of the morning goes by pretty quickly. With Cheerios every morning and Glee every afternoon this week because of our respective competitions this weekend, I figure I won't have a lot of homework time so I spend my classes getting ahead on the work. Apparently being extra-studious also means that I am not paying attention to much else.

Rachel gets slushied at lunch, in the cafeteria in front of everybody. It's obviously not the first time ever, but it is the first one in a while. I just look at Quinn, because, like, seriously? Didn't we just have this conversation? She's not laughing or anything. She looks as cold as… well, as slushie I guess. I think for a second that maybe it wasn't her after all, but-

"I know you two are "friends" now, or whatever. Maybe you can teach her how to mind her own business."

Like, what? I just roll my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Everybody is talking about me and Puck. The whole school. It was either her or Finn, and he's absent today." She's giving me, like, a death glare. As if this has anything to do with me one way or another.

"And? You and Finn are broken up. He already knows about the Puck thing. Why does it even matter at this point? They're gonna know eventually." I'm just so over this bullshit.

"It sets a precedent. She needs to know her place."

_So_ over it.

"Okay, Q? You're not the fucking Godfather, you're a _cheerleader_. Just listen to yourself. It's just… It's so fucking _dumb_, Quinn." It's so fucking _high school_. I cannot get out of this place fast enough.

I grab my bag and follow the trail of slushie to the girls' bathroom. I stop outside the door and think about knocking, but, like, what's the point, really? I push the door open and there are a couple girls doing their makeup at the mirrors. Looking around under the doors I just see a pair of maryjanes in one of the stalls, like, _bingo_.

"Okay. You? Out," I say, waving a finger at the girls by the mirror. They turn to argue with me, but once they recognize me they just grab their shit and go. And, I mean, I'm pretty over the whole bullying thing obviously? But it still feels good to flex my rep every once in a while.

I lock the door behind them.

"Hobbit, come on out. It's just me and you." I lean back against the locked door and wait.

"Go away, Santana." Oh, _awesome_. She's obviously been crying, which is just… "I thought we were… I don't know what I thought but I thought we were past _this_, anyway." She's, like, blowing her nose and everything and I didn't even _do this_ and I'm feeling guilty about it, which is totally unfair.

"You think this was _me_?" I'm trying to ignore the fact that it kind of hurts my feelings. That stuff she said the other night, I mean it was obviously dorky as hell, but I kind of thought she, like, _knew_ me. And this, well…

"Well, you did follow me in here to insult me; what would you expect me to think?"

"I'm not _insulting_ you. Christ, Berry. Just come out of the stall already." I wish I could at least see her face. Like, is she mad at me, or what? I can't tell through the damn door. I hear the stall-lock flip, like, finally. She's covered in grape slushie, and she's clearly been crying though it's hard to say whether it's just from the stuff in her eyes or, you know, something else. She's already out of her sweater and just wearing an undershirt, which is also stained, but not as bad I guess since the sweater took the brunt of it. She looks in the mirror and starts to clean out her hair and what's left on her face. "Hobbit," she says quietly. "You called me "Hobbit.""

I roll my eyes, and like, I get that she's upset right now but this is totally besides the point. I walk over and lean with my back against the sinks next to her. "Yeah. I call you a lot of things. They're not insults, they're _nicknames_. It's, like, what friends _do_. And, while I really shouldn't even have to say this? I didn't call down that slushie. It was Quinn. It's pretty much always been Quinn." It's probably not cool to throw Q under the bus, but she is guilty so I can't really feel too bad about it.

"I always thought it was Quinn, you know? But then it stopped once you started to… to tolerate me, I guess. So then I thought maybe it had been you all along. And it's been _weeks_, and then the party? I just thought… I thought that things were _better_. And I guess I should be used to it right now, and I _was_ used to it, but this time… That boy, the one who threw the slushie at me? He gave me a piggy back ride on Saturday night."

"Dude, everyone gave you piggy back rides on Saturday."

She just looks at me, and she's sad, and... God.

"Okay, so… Quinn? She thinks you told people about her and Puckerman." I'm filing my nails, but I look sideways at her and she's just gone kind of… still. "You didn't, obviously. Right?"

"Well."

"Well?" I'm looking right at her now.

"Well. I may have mentioned it when I met Kurt and Blaine for coffee yesterday afternoon. Kurt was curious as to why Finn was in such a bad mood and it just came out before I could stop myself and-" She's going a mile a minute with no signs of stopping.

"You told Kurt." It's not a question.

"I didn't mean-"

"You told _Kurt_. Of all people. Rachel, seriously? What did you expect to happen?" I'm kind of yelling at her now but I can't really help it and she's turning red-

"If you're implying that I _deserved_-"

"It's not about anybody _deserving_ anything, Rachel. You should know that by now. You've never deserved any of the crap we've thrown at you, but it never stopped us from doing it. It doesn't have to make sense. It's fucking… Toontown…" I don't even know where that came from, and I kind of squint and frown at myself, and-

"Toontown?" She spits it out with a laugh, and I roll my eyes at her, but, yeah I'm smiling a little and laughing a little until I'm not really laughing at all because I'm kind of seeing her all of a sudden-

"Shut up. You look… okay you just really can't go out there like that; it's, like, obscene." I gesture to her chest while looking anywhere _but_ at her chest; her undershirt is all wet and purple and stuck to her and it's…well. "Just do something with your hair, and take this," I tell her as I dig a Cheerios hoodie out of my bag. She looks down and blushes and mumbles "Sorry..." and it's kind of quiet and weird in here right now so once she has my sweatshirt on I just hand her her stuff and head towards the door.

"Come on, Wicket. I'll walk you to your next class. My sweatshirt is less likely to get slushied that way."

"Wicket?"

"It's an Ewok, if you must know."

"Ewok?"

"Jesus, Berry, were you born in a barn?"

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Glee is as tense as it's ever been since the beginning of sophomore year. Which is stupid, because it's not like there was ever any doubt that we were awful to Rachel. But somehow that fact that she has now positively identified her main tormentor beyond a shadow of a doubt is making her extra intense. And Quinn is still pissed at her for her fucking insane Quinn Fabray reasons, so there are deathrays shooting in both directions and I am of course caught in the middle.

The thing is, I _like_ Quinn. We go through these phases where we absolutely can't stand each other, but we always _understand_ each other. Or, most of the time we do anyway. She explained the Rachel thing to me, and I guess it kind of makes sense in a twisted way if you can ignore the fact that it's completely insane to be jealous of a person who spends half their school-day rinsing slushie out of their hair. And obviously I've hardly been innocent in it most of the time either. But at this point the whole torturing Rachel Berry thing seems to be habit more than anything, and I honestly can't really remember why it was ever fun to begin with.

And, like, high school politics? Popularity and hierarchy and whatever? It's only going to matter for a few more months, which kind of makes it seem like it already doesn't matter at all.

Except it does to Quinn. So when Mr. Schue nominates Rachel and Puck for a duet together, I tell him I think Blaine would be a better fit. Puck doesn't really care either way, and this just seems like the most peaceful solution. Me and Mercedes both get some spotlight time in the group number, and then the solo of course goes to Rachel. Nobody really complains, which is kind of like, if it's this easy to pick a set list why did we wait until the last week?

As soon as we have the songs picked out the parts divided, Mr. Schue calls it a day. Really. We have less than a week, and he isn't even going to start us actually singing the songs yet? I'm apparently not the only one with that thought; pretty much everybody with any solo time stays back in the choir room and we manage to at least get the bones of the songs nailed down. Britt and Mike head to the auditorium and start marking out the basics for the choreography. It's going to be a long week but at least we're starting with something this time.

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**A/N: I don't have any interest in actually picking songs for them to sing, so I'm just not going to. Feel free to use your imagination; they can sing whatever the heck you want them to. Musical numbers are awesome when you can see and hear them, but in my opinion are much less so on paper, plus that's just not really the point of this story. Hope you don't mind.**

**Also, just a quick thanks to everybody who is reading and especially those of you who take the time to review. It is much appreciated. I don't like to do a lot of author notes because I find they can take you out of the story sometimes, but don't think I'm not noticing you guys. You're awesome.**


	14. Chapter 14

So it's a good thing we stayed after glee to rehearse yesterday, because Finn is back in school today so of course Mr. Schue tried to give him Blaine's part in the duet. But since we have most of it worked out already, Schue didn't really have any choice but to let Blaine keep it. Honestly though, it becomes clear pretty quickly why Finn is better off as a soloist: leave him in the chorus and he actually has to keep up with the choreography, which isn't exactly complex but is _way_ beyond Frankenteen. He's trying, but, like… it's awful.

I catch up with Quinn in the parking lot after rehearsal on Wednesday.

"Hey Q, two days with no slushies. Nicely done. We should be marking it on a chalkboard in your locker." I shove her with my shoulder a little bit, because whatever. I'm feeling energetic; rehearsal was actually pretty good if you ignore Finn's dancing.

"Yeah, well, it's not worth the effort. Plus we can't afford risk a mutiny right before sectionals." She's smiling as much as she ever does, which is like, barely. "And don't think I haven't noticed you running interference."

Okay, so, I guess I've taken more of an interest in the choreography than I usually do. And maybe I've made a point of keeping Berry away from Puck and Finn. And maybe I've made a point to keep Berry _far_ away from Quinn. I mean, whatever, it's strategy. Gotta keep my ducks in a row, as Britt would say (she would mean it, like, literally though.) It's preventative medicine or something.

"Whatever. Anyway, what are you doing now? I'm hungry." Say what you will about Quinn, she is like the only girl I know who likes food as much as I do. And competition weeks are pretty much the only time we can really indulge, thanks to all the extra workouts.

"Going to Puck's, his mom is working late."

"Okay, I definitely don't want to crash that party. Been there, done that." Done that, like, a lot of times, actually.

"Seriously Santana, do you have to remind me? That's disgusting." I'm pretty sure she's only half serious.

"What, are you gonna slushie _me_ now? Get over it. It's ancient history." She rolls her eyes at me which is pretty solid code for _not that angry_. I figure since I'm not getting fed I may as well get out while I can at this point. "Anyway, see you tomorrow I guess."

"Bright and early."

She turns and heads towards her car. I look around; the parking lot is pretty much deserted by now. I throw my bag into my car and figure I might as well go home, there's nothing else to do and I have yet another early morning tomorrow. When I get home, I change out of my uniform and take out some homework, but, like, I'm still too keyed up to really concentrate, so I put the TV on. And I watch it for like two minutes before I turn it off. Maybe because I've forgotten how to do it the past couple weeks, but sitting still is just fucking _boring_. I get up and practice some of my Cheerios routine, but a lot of that requires more than one person and can't really be done in a living room. So I move on to Glee choreography and I try singing my parts, but I wind up feeling like I'm, like, _Rachel_ or something. Isn't this how she spends all of her time? Probably.

I grab my keys and wind up parked in her driveway before I bother to wonder why. And then it's like, well, I'm here anyway. And if they heard my car or saw me pull in, it would be creepy to just leave. I mean, it doesn't matter; obviously she'll be happy to see me, she'd be happy to see pretty much anybody (except Quinn, and even then who knows; I can't really imagine Quinn ever showing up here). I just wish I had taken a second to text first so I don't look like… I don't know. But I've been sitting here for way longer than it took me to convince myself to come over in the first place, and it's getting weird, so I get out and knock on the door.

Which is answered by both of Rachel's dads.

"Hello? Oh, Santana. Rachel didn't tell us you were coming," Mr. Berry says (I mean, one of the Mr. Berrys). He doesn't seem upset or anything, so that's cool I guess.

"Hi Mr. Berry… Misters? Uh… Sirs?" Shut up. I've only met each of them briefly, like, _running-out-the-door_ briefly, and never at the same time. It's confusing. "Rachel actually didn't know I was coming, I was just…" Yeah. No idea how to finish that sentence. And, like, why am I even nervous? I mean, I obviously don't have a great track record with peoples' parents or anything, but I also don't generally care.

"Well, you're just in time for dinner. Why don't you head up and get Rachel and then stay and eat with us?" This time it's the other Mr. Berry, moving out of the doorway and extending an arm into the house like a butler or something. I almost want to hand him my coat.

"Can I take your coat?" Okay. So I _do_ hand him my coat. I've spent like two minutes with these people and I am already starting to see where Rachel gets her… _Rachelness_ from.

"Yeah, okay. Um, thanks…" I shrug out of my coat and hand it over before heading upstairs. Her door is shut, and I try knocking to be polite, but, like, her room is soundproofed so I'm pretty sure she won't hear it. As I'm turning the doorknob I have this weird split-second _what-if-she's-naked-or-something_ thought, but before I can really register it I am hit with a wall of sound as the seal on the door opens. Okay, so that kind of shocks me into silence for a second, until I see Rachel bouncing around in front of the mirror screaming along into a hairbrush. That shocks me right into laughing my ass off. And for way longer than a second. But she's too into whatever the hell this performance is supposed to me to notice me, and the music is too loud for her to hear me laughing, until eventually I try to lean against the door to calm my ass down and it knocks into her bedside table. And, yeah, now she definitely sees me. I can tell by the ear-splitting shriek she lets out, which is way loud enough to hear over the racket of her music. And that's somehow even funnier; I'm laughing so hard it hurts, and I have to just slide down the door and sit with my hands to try and get my shit together. Suddenly the music is off and it is, like, overwhelmingly quiet in here compared to before. I look up and she's just staring at me with a hand over her heart, and now I'm laughing again. She's just so-

"Santana Lopez! You cannot just sneak up on people like that; you practically gave me a heart attack!" She's breathing heavily, from surprise I guess. I mean, whatever, so am I. But, like, from laughing. "What are you doing in my room?"

"What are _you_ doing in your room, Berry? Like, what exactly did I just interrupt?" I'm smirking at her even though I don't really mean to, but it's kind of hard not to with the way she's standing there: arms crossed over her chest, blushing red as a fucking tomato and just _glaring_ at me.

"I was practicing, obviously. I would think you would know by now that I take my singing very seriously-"

I can't help it, at the word "seriously" I just lose it and crack up all over again. She's blushing even harder now but she's also fighting a smile, and I'm pretty sure the smile is winning. Once I catch my breath I remember why I'm here (or, like, why I'm in her room anyway; I'm still not really sure why I'm _here_ here).

"Um, it's dinner time. Your dads..." I wave an arm in the general direction of downstairs.

"Oh, of course. Are you staying for dinner, then?" Like, no, I just came all the way over here to be your dinner bell and now I'll just be on my merry way, right?

"Yeah, I guess so. They invited me, so…" She shakes her head at me and lends me a hand to help haul me up off the floor. I follow her down the stairs to find her dads setting the table.

"What's so funny, you two?"

"Nothing-" (She's back to pouting)

"Rachel-" (I'm back to laughing)

"Well, dinner is almost ready, why don't you sit down", Dad Number One, or whatever, says to us, gesturing towards the table and, like, _chuckling_. He goes into the kitchen and I sit down next to Rachel.

"Okay, seriously, you have to tell me what to call them. It's, like, screwing up my internal monologue," I whisper, nudging her shoulder. She smiles.

"Hiram and Leroy." Like, okay, thanks.

"Yeah, but which is which? And will they mind if I call them by their first names? I don't want to be, like, disrespectful or whatever…" She laughs at me and smiles for real this time. Her dads are back, carrying dishes of whatever vegans eat for dinner.

"Hiram-" she gestures to Tall White Dad. "And Leroy-", she gestures to Shorter Black Dad. "And you'll have to ask _them_ if they mind, it's not really my place to say."

The three of them are all sitting down now and just, like, _smiling at me_, and I'm suddenly feeling really out of place. So I just try to smile back, but I probably look like a lunatic because I am not really sure what I'm supposed to say right now. Rachel whispers in my ear-

"I'm shocked to hear you of all people worrying about being disrespectful…" I whip my head around to look at her and kind of glance at her dads to see if they heard, but they don't seem to be reacting at all and Rachel is just kind of smiling down at her plate. Fine. They seem nice. I guess I can play friendly, or whatever.

"Um, thank you for inviting me to dinner. It looks really good." I glance down at my plate, because I actually hadn't even really looked at it before I said that, and, like- "Um, what is it, exactly?"

"Oh, no, dear. Do you have any food allergies? We didn't think to ask since we hadn't planned on company when we started cooking. It's just a simple curry with vegetables and rice," Hiram actually looks, like, concerned.

"And craisins, Honey," Leroy says to his husband. "Can you eat that?", he directs at me. I just start nodding.

"Oh, yeah, that's fine. No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I mean I crashed your dinner, you have nothing to worry about. It sounds awesome." I'm definitely babbling. It's gross. The babbling, I mean. The food is actually kind of good.

"So, Santana," Rachel asks me in between bites. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this evening?" I automatically scowl at her because, come on, that's just so Rachel, but I hopefully catch myself before her dads notice.

"I dunno. I was bored."

"You could have called first." This is, like, not very hostess-y of her.

"What, and miss the impromptu hairbrush concert you were putting on up there? This could have been, like, a once in a lifetime opportunity, Berry." She's blushing again and trying to pout but, like, whatever.

"Oh, trust us, it wasn't," Leroy meets my eyes and me and both Mr Berrys start laughing a little. I kind of expect Rachel to storm out or something but she just rolls her eyes and goes back to her dinner. You know, like a normal person.

"So," I ask her dads. "She does that a lot?"

"Well, as you can imagine, one does not simply soundproof their daughter's room on a whim." Which, like, good point, Hiram. They're really kind of okay, apparently, because I seem to be getting comfortable-

"So, like, with the soundproofing? Aren't you nervous about just walking in there? How do you know she's not, you know-"

"Santana!" Rachel punches me in the arm, like, _hard_. And Leroy spits out a mouthful of water, and Hiram just looks scandalized in a way I've only ever seen before on Rachel. It's kind of great, even if I just accidentally overstayed my welcome. Leroy clears his throat.

"Um, we have an intercom. Although that particular scenario hadn't yet occurred to me. So, thank you, Santana, for that..." Everybody at this table is blushing, except for me. It's, like, precious. And also, _an intercom_? Seriously? Who are these people? I have nothing to lose now, anyway, so-

"Um, so, now that I'm probably not going to be welcome back here ever again anyway, would you mind if I called you by your first names? The whole "Mr. Berry" thing gets a little, like, cumbersome when you're both here." They look at each other before Hiram answers, but they seem to be having a decent time so I figure I'm not really in any trouble after all.

"Well, We'd certainly hate to be "cumbersome", Santana, so I think that would be perfectly fine."

I look at Rachel, she's still picking at her food and just kind of smiling a little. I nudge her with my shoulder.

"What's up, Tinkerbell?", I ask her quietly. She rolls her eyes at the nickname. "You've been, like, scary quiet for most of dinner." She just smiles at me.

"I'm simply enjoying my meal. I don't always need to be the center of attention." _I_ almost spit out my water at that, because, like, _bitch please_. I just shake my head and she laughs.

"So, Santana. We know that you're in glee club with Rachel, and that you are a cheerleader, based on the outfit I've seen you in previously. What else can you tell us? Hobbies, college plans, boyfriends? Pets, maybe?"

Oh, right.

See, this is why I don't like parents. They're, like, scientifically designed to be more interested in kids than they are in themselves. It's terrible. Other teenagers are so interested in their own shit that they almost never bother to ask any questions. Parents are, like, _curious_. And, like, I like _being_ me, I just really don't like _talking about me_.

"There's not really much to tell, honestly."

"Oh, come on. You've got to give us something. We'll start easy: Boyfriends?" Easy, huh? Jesus.

"Daddy, Santana is-" I whip my head around to look at her and she snaps her mouth shut.

Wow, Rachel. Just… I mean, yeah, but… Like, it's not like she'd be outing me or anything; at this point I'm out enough. I just don't ever really talk about it. And since Brittany it's been kind of irrelevant anyway. I've been with Puck more recently than I've been anywhere near a chick in that way, which is incredibly depressing actually, but whatever.

"Um, yeah, no boyfriends. No _girlfriends_," Rachel's dads kind of share a look at that, but it's not, like, judgmental or anything, it's just kind of like _how-about-that_.

"How about you Rachel, any _boyfriends_ they should know about?" Just, like, lets please not talk about me anymore.

"Not at the moment, no. But I do have a date with Finn Hudson this weekend."

Wait. What?

"Wait. What?"

"A date. With Finn. He asked me to go out with him after the football game on Friday night. I'm actually planning on attending the game with Kurt and Mercedes and then meeting him after. It could be fun."

"It could be a _death wish_." Everybody just stares at me. Rachel's dads are looking at me like I just threatened her life, which I guess it maybe sounded like I did. Whoops.

"Excuse me?" Leroy, like, won't let me break eye contact with him. It's kind of impressive, like, that's usually my move.

"I just mean, he used to go out with Quinn. Quinn Fabray?" And it is suddenly occurring to me that there is probably no way to explain myself without letting them know that I have a history of being kind of… heinous to their daughter.

"Um, Quinn is kind of the jealous type. And, I don't know what Rachel has told you?" I look at her for any kind of clue about what they might know, but she even won't look at me. "Well, she sometimes… picks on Rachel. And this seems like the kind of thing that could set her off." Her dads look like they have something to say, but Rachel cuts them off.

"I won't plan my life around Quinn Fabray's insecurities, Santana. I appreciate your concern, but it is entirely unnecessary. And if you're suggesting that he's only going out with me to-" Oh, damn it. Jesus.

"Okay, no. I don't think that. Finn is… well I don't like him, like, at all, but he's _nice_. If he asked you out, I'm sure he meant it, okay? But, like, you realize this has pretty much been Quinn's worst nightmare for the past 2 years, right? I'm not suggesting that you, like negotiate with terrorists or whatever, but you really need to consider what you're walking into."

At some point, Rachel's dads left the room. I didn't even notice they'd gone. Not like I can really blame them; this high school drama is exhausting to me and I'm actually _in_ high school.

"Well, he asked. And my dance card isn't exactly full these days, as I'm sure you're well aware. It's _nice_ to be asked." And the look on her face is… I don't even know. But it makes me feel guilty anyway. It makes me feel, like, _something_. And there's not really anything I can say to that.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I get it, I guess. Just, if it's at all possible, can you try to keep it under wraps until after sectionals?" Which isn't really what I want to say, but don't really _know_ what I want to say, so it'll have to do.

"Well, I doubt Finn will be shouting it from the rooftops, obviously, so it shouldn't be that hard."

God, she's just so…

"Okay, shut up. You're…" I shake my head a little. "You're really not that bad, okay? Way out of his league, anyway."

"Thanks." She's smiling, but it's like, a _sad_ smile, and I just kind of think it's about time for me to go. This isn't… I just don't really feel like being here anymore.

She walks me to the door, as usual.

"So why did you come over, really?"

"I told you, I was bored." I kind of snap at her. I don't really mean to, but whatever. I just can't get out of here fast enough. She gives me this look that I haven't seen in a while, like she's afraid of me or something, and, like, seriously? At this point I feel like everything she does makes me feel guilty. It's suffocating.

So I go home. And I'm pretty sure I didn't even say goodbye, but whatever. I'm exhausted and the only thing I feel like doing is sleeping. I _really_ feel like sleeping. But instead of sleeping, I'm just lying here thinking about how it's absurd that so much drama can come out of this one oversized, dumb, clumsy, dopey, well-meaning golden retriever of a kid. I'm just lying here thinking of _Finn fucking Hudson_. And it's gross.


	15. Chapter 15

Honestly? I'm sick of seriously everybody. It's been nothing but practices and rehearsals and plays and parties and, just, like, people everywhere. All the fucking time.

It's exhausting to even walk down the hall at McKinley at this point. Quinn hates Rachel and likes Puck and doesn't like Finn but wants him on a leash anyway and Finn likes Rachel and is pissed at Quinn and Puck and I hate Finn and I generally like Puck and I lately like Rachel and I seriously try to like Quinn and I honestly have no idea what Rachel thinks about, like, anybody. It's just... stupid.

So I grab a seat by myself on the way to Cheerleading Sectionals, put on sunglasses and headphones and just pretend to sleep. Nobody bothers me or even tries to sit next to me, which is a seriously smart move on their parts.

We win. It's, just, whatever. We always win. Who even cares.

I get on the bus and head straight to the back, but an arm reaches out and pulls me into a seat in the middle and suddenly I am sandwiched between Quinn and Brittany, who apparently jumped right in after me (and basically onto me).

"What the hell, Q? If you want to say something to me you can do it without assaulting me."

She just glares.

"What's the matter with you?" It's, well it's Quinn, so it's obviously a glare, but it's almost, like, a _nice_ glare. Or at least a curious glare.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just not feeling especially chatty right now, so if you'll excuse me…" I try to climb over Brittany but Quinn grabs me by the hood of my letterman. "Okay seriously Fabray, you are about to lose a _hand_-"

"Just shut up. Wednesday you were practically running glee club, and then you're inviting me out to dinner like we're best friends or something, but then you showed up on Thursday looking like you were about to eat freshman _alive_, and you haven't spoken a word since. What is your deal?"

I just roll me eyes.

"My _deal_ is that I just need a little peace and quiet every now and then away from all of your insane drama, and Britt can you please stop fucking touching me-" She's been all over me since I sat down and it's distracting so I just snap at her and try to push her off. Which… great. She's got tears in her eyes, and…God, it's like I just kicked a puppy or something. And I didn't mean it, but… I just don't even know. "Britt, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to yell. You just can't…Just let me out, okay? You can cuddle with Q."

She lets me out without saying anything and I can feel Quinn's eyes on me like lasers while I make my way to the back. And, like, I _do_ feel bad. But they should really know by now to leave me alone when I'm... whatever I am. My phones buzzes with a text from Rachel, who is probably on her _date_ with _Finn_ right now.

**Berry: How did you do? Did you win? ***

I don't reply. I just hope Hudson isn't dumb enough to take her to Breadstix since that's where the Cheerios are having their victory dinner. But, maybe… okay, I mean I know what I told Rachel the other night, but maybe he would take her out just to make Quinn jealous. If he takes her there, obviously he knows they'll run into each other. Honestly though I doubt he's smart enough to think of it. That plan has, like, one whole step to it. Either way, I am not setting foot in Breadstix tonight; I don't need that drama at all and I've had seriously enough of Quinn.

I get some looks when I drive off in the direction of my house; nobody has ever seen me turn down Breadstix, so I guess I'm, like, blowing their minds right now. I go straight to bed and look forward to avoiding conversations with a whole new group of people tomorrow night.

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I take the same tactic on the bus to Glee Sectionals as I did for Cheerios, which is even easier to get away with since seriously everybody is paired off at this point except me. Rachel is sitting alone but I walk past her; I figure she'd rather sit with Finn since they're _dating _nowor whatever, and plus he's co-captain (which, _why_ exactly?).

We draw the first performance slot, which would normally be totally lame, but it works out. I don't have to worry about hanging around backstage for very long before we perform, and once we're finished (we were awesome, _obviously_) we just sit in the audience and enjoy (I use that word _very_ loosely) the competition.

Okay, so it's only Sectionals. Which means we're up against, like, a clown school and weird congregations of home schooled kids and some random old people who shouldn't even be allowed to compete but it doesn't end up mattering because they are _awful_. We win, and it has seriously never been so obvious before that we were _going to_ win. From now on I think we should make it a habit to take the reins from Mr. Schue when it comes to these things because we are _way_ better when we just do the work on our own.

Anyway. Everybody hugs and it's pretty awesome, but, like… Sometimes I look at Glee and (shut up) like, it looks like a family or whatever. Like, we belong to something, and it's a nice thing, even though it's totally sappy and dumb. But then sometimes I look at Glee and just see _couples_, and it pisses me off. Right now it's kind of a mix of the two. Or maybe it's mostly the second one. Whatever it is, winning doesn't feel as exciting as it probably should.

There's an after-party at Puck's, kind of a combo deal for Glee and Cheerios, which would be a pretty surreal concept if I weren't pretty much the same combo myself. I don't feel like going but I do anyway; it's easier to just hang out and get drunk than it would be to explain skipping out on it. I grab a seat in an armchair in the living room and send a baby cheerio to the kitchen to get me a beer. Rinse, repeat, whatever. After a few beers I'm kind of just watching the cheerios on the dance floor like a creeper, but I don't really care. It's becoming pretty obvious to me that, unless I want to waste my time taking home some loser football player, this is the only action I'm likely to see in Lima. Which is just… _unjust_. I mean, just look at me, I'm _Santana Lopez_.

"_Yeah_ you are!" Sam reaches his bottle over and clinks it against mine, and I guess I've gotten to the point where I am saying thing out loud without realizing it. I shake my head a little bit to try to clear it and focus in on Sam's conversation with Artie. But Britt is on the dance floor and she's just _Brittany _so I smile at her and she waves and keeps dancing and I'm feeling pretty good about it. I look back at Sam and remember I was trying to pay attention, but then I didn't and… yeah. They're talking about Battlestar Galactica and Artie is saying that Kara and Lee are soulmates and-

"Stow it Wheels, they're practically brother and sister. Plus, Apollo is a _nerd_. He's a whiny crybaby who always gets whatever he wants. He's… he's basically _Finn, _except for the fact that he's a vaguely competent pilot. And anyway, since I am _obviously_ the Starbuck in this little fleet, that soulmates shit is patently absurd."

Sam clinks our beers again and nods along with me because he knows I'm right. Artie is staring at me like I just sprouted horns or something. I just roll my eyes, like, yeah it's dorky but it's an awesome show, okay?

"Well I'm obviously Sam, Sam I am, so does that make _me_ your soulmate?" Sam leers at me with one eyebrow raised, but he's so completely harmless that it isn't even gross. And anyway-

"You wish. And, as confusing as it may be for your simple mind, you're not Sam. You're totally Helo." He raises his eyebrows and nods at that.

"Nice! Damn, Santana. That's probably the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. Or to anyone, even." I punch him in the shoulder. "So, who _is_ Sam, then?"

I look around and all I'm seeing is a sea of cheerios and jocks and glee nerds. "Yeah. I guess I don't really think there is a Sam."

"But Sam is Sam," Brittany says from behind me. I need to buy her, like, a collar with a bell on it or something.

"Yeah he is, baby, but we're talking about BSG," Artie says and holds his arms out so she'll climb into his chair. "Who would you be? I'd call you Number 6 cuz you're _fine_, girl."

Ugh. Just, like, _gag me_.

"Oh, no way. I want to be the ship. It's, like, the best character."

"Yeah, B, it really is. You can definitely be the ship," I tell her, because you know what? When she's right, she's _right_.

I get up and head to the kitchen before I have to see them getting too cozy. I need a refill anyway and the cheerio I'd been ordering around is MIA. The kitchen is packed with people crowded around the table. Tina is sitting chicken on Mike's shoulders near the back and I ask her what the deal is.

"Puck and Finn are going shot for shot. It's disgusting!" Regardless of how disgusting it apparently is, she's smiling ear to ear (like, didn't she used to be goth? She like never stops smiling nowadays. Go Mike, I guess.). I push my way through the crowd to get to the fridge, where Quinn and Rachel are actually standing together and, like, not murdering each other. They are just watching the scene in front of them with their mouths gaping open. The two supposed studs of McKinley High are pretty much just pouring booze down their shirts at this point. They can barely keep their eyes open. Quinn looks over at me with her mouth still hanging open and shakes her head and says-

"They are _both_ idiots…" Rachel laughs her ass off at this and, like, wraps herself around Quinn's arm. Quinn shakes her off and gives me a look. "You want to deal with her, Lopez?"

"Whatever." I shake my head. "Come here, Berry." She drifts over and gives me a full body hug that just doesn't end. Like, ever. It doesn't really occur to me to question it because I'm honestly feeling kind of great right now, but then I notice Quinn giving me a look and I guess it's weird or whatever, so I pull back a bit. "Everything okay down there, Midget? Are you gonna, like, fall asleep on me or something?"

"Mmmm, no," she doesn't pull back. "I'm just glad you're not mad at me anymore."

"Berry, I wasn't mad-"

"No, no, you were mad at me," she's, like, talking to my boobs right now. I'm pretty sure she's hammered. "You were mad at me about Finn, and you were right, cuz us girls need to stick together and he was Quinn's boyfriend and now he's not, but it doesn't matter. There's other fish in the sea…"

"Does somebody want to explain to me what she's talking about?" Quinn looks confused more than anything.

"Um, Frankenteen asked her out. I guess she went out with him after the football game last night?" God, it's just gross to even think about. I mean, look at him.

"I did. I did go out with him. I'm so sorry, Quinn. It's not the sisterly thing to do, you know. We should be friends but we're not, but we really could be-" Rachel has pulled back from me and is looking at Quinn with tears in her eyes and I'm trying to think of something bitchy to say to cut the tension but Quinn reacts faster than I can. By cracking the fuck up. Which is really not what I expected, but I am kind of drunk, so maybe my instincts are a little off. She looks over at Finn and laughs some more, but quietly.

"You want Finn, Berry? You know what, you can have him. Be my guest." She keeps laughing quietly as she pushes her way through the crowd and out of the kitchen. Just as soon as she's gone, as if on cue, Finn throws up all over the table.

"Okay, I seriously hope he's not your ride home." She looks up at me and scrunches up her nose in disgust.

"No, that wouldn't be prudent, would it?" I laugh a little and put my arm around her shoulder. "Can you drive me home?"

"Nah, that wouldn't really be prudent either right now, Berry. Could you walk for a bit? My house is like a mile away, but it's pretty easy." I start to lead her into the living room and towards the front door.

"Yes, I think I can do that. Fresh air is good for the body and the soul, after all…"

"Okay, whatever. Just grab your coat so you don't die from _too much_ fresh air." It's almost Thanksgiving; it is _not_ warm out.

The walk home goes pretty quickly. She starts singing almost immediately, after declaring "We are _winners_!" and grabbing my hand and bringing it with hers above our heads in celebration. She lets our hands drop after a few seconds but she doesn't let go, and fuck it, I'm glad. It's late, and there's nobody else on the road to hear it, so I start to sing along. And neither one of us are at our best because we are both drunk as hell, but that's not really the point, so whatever. It's painfully dorky. It's also way more fun than the party itself was, and, like, I really have no idea how more people don't love this girl.

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For the second time in as many weeks, I wake up hungover and cuddling Rachel Berry. This time, though, I'm woken up by my mother. I don't even hear her come in, I'm just suddenly ripped from my happy place by a pillow smacking me in the head and my mother's voice-

"You're drunk, mija! It smells like a brewery in here! Who is that?"

I groan and try to cover my head. "Stop hitting me, it's just Rachel. We were celebrating our victory or whatever, just relax…" Rachel is tense next to me, obviously pretending to be asleep, which is ridiculous considering the commotion going on around her.

"Rachel? Rachel Berry, that nice girl? Santana you are a bad influence!"

I roll onto my back and try to protect my face with my hand. "We walked home; I left my car at Puck's okay? No drunk driving." She shakes her head at me but she's not yelling or threatening me with pillows anymore so, like, that's an improvement.

"I don't like this behavior, Santana. You know I don't. But we have to trust you. Don't abuse that trust." She goes to leave but stops at the door and looks back at us- "Rachel, you are welcome to stay for breakfast once you "wake up.""

Once she's gone, Rachel groans and rolls over so we're both lying on our backs. "Are we in trouble?" I can't not laugh; she's way more adorable than a hungover person should be allowed to be.

"_You're_ not in trouble; my parents love you for some insane reason. And honestly, I'm probably not in any trouble either. They leave me alone here every week so at this point they pretty much let me get away with whatever as long as I'm not getting arrested or something." I roll back onto my side facing her. I'm totally ready to pass out again. "Just don't worry about it, go back to sleep."

"But I-"

"No. Just, no. It's too early to call your dads for a ride and you don't have your car. And I am obviously not getting up. So, _please,_ just sleep." She grumbles something under her breath as she rolls back onto her side.

"What was that, Berry?" I'm kind of talking into her shoulder right now, but she can definitely still hear me.

"If this messes up my Sunday routine, I'm telling everybody you're a cuddler." I just laugh into her hair.

"Whatever. Nobody would believe you anyway."

I'm asleep within minutes. When I wake up again it's after noon and Rachel's gone, but there's breakfast (cold, but still delicious) on my bedside table and bad TV to watch, and my bed smells nice, so I'm really pretty okay with just spending the rest of my day here.

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**A/N: Sorry if you're not into Battlestar Galactica. Not that sorry, though, because it is awesome. And thanks again for the follows and reviews, you all are pretty cool.**


	16. Chapter 16

Thanksgiving week passes quickly. There are no Cheerios practices or Glee rehearsals, and it's a short week anyway. My parents hang around for the whole week because of the holiday, and I guess also because they want to keep an eye on me, but whatever. I get home-cooked meals every night and I pretend to be grounded so that I don't have to deal with any social… anything. I manage to get my makeup English work done all the way up through what's due in December and hand it all in. Mr. Henderson seems pretty impressed with me; he calls me a "go-getter", which, whatever. But he also talks to Figgins and manages to get my D from last year amended to an Incomplete, which is admittedly pretty cool considering my college applications are due in like a month.

I'm not going to OSU. I'm _applying_ there, because I mean, _everybody_ in Lima applies there. But if it comes down to it? I'd rather just pack my car and drive pretty much anywhere than wind up stuck in Ohio for another year. I haven't sent anything out yet because my teachers are _slow_ as _hell_ at dishing out recommendation letters, but I've got applications lying around for a few places in New York and Boston, plus UCLA, and Yale just for the hell of it.

I still have no idea what the hell I want to do, but I can figure it out later.

I manage to go the whole week basically without talking to anybody. It is _insanely_ refreshing. It obviously can't last forever.

"Are you mad at me for some reason?" Rachel catches up to me after English on the way to Glee, clutching her books and practically jogging to keep up with me (what, I'm a fast walker and she's unnaturally short, so…) I roll my eyes at her and keep walking.

"Why would I be mad at you this time? You need to calm your tits; believe me, you will _know_ it if I'm mad at you."

"Well you haven't talked to me in more than a week, not since the party, and it's unusual at this point for me to go this long without hearing from you. So, naturally, I assume you must have a reason."

"Too many words, Berry. We've talked about this. And, just, whatever. Ask around; I haven't been talking to anybody. You're not _special_." I look over at her and she stops in the middle of the hallway, so I kind of swing around on one heel to look at her and arch a brow because she _clearly_ has something to say. Except she doesn't say anything. She just takes a deep breath and then looks at me.

"I see. In that case, I'll see you in Glee Club." And with that, she's walking down the hallway _way_ faster than her short legs should be able to carry her without actually running. It's equal parts hilarious and confusing. And it's also completely pointless, because I still only get there like two minutes after she does and we're the first people there. She pointedly avoids looking at me and does that pouting thing she should probably have patented by now. Like, _how old are you_? I consider ignoring her, but that's just so fucking stupid I can't even, so I sit two chairs over from her and put my feet up on the one between us, focusing on my nails while I talk to her.

"So, are _you_ mad at _me_ now?" She just _hmphs_ her annoyance and turns her whole body away from me. "Seriously? Just because, what? Because I didn't call you and wish you a _Happy Tofurkey Day_?"

"You didn't call me _at all_, Santana. You completely ignored me. For a week!" Well, she's looking at me now, but whatever. I'm just really not in the mood for her crap.

"Okay, Berry? Listen up. No, I didn't call you. I don't _have_ to call you. I am not your _boyfriend_, which should be glaringly obvious based on the fact that you don't have to peer through the cloud cover just to see my face."

"He's not my-"

"Oh, I am _not_ finished, Berry. Because you know what? You didn't call me either. _For a week_. And you'll notice that _I_ didn't throw a goddamn temper tantrum about it. I just caught up on my homework, and _bonded_ with my parents." I throw in some jazz hands at this point because, seriously. "Like, _endless_ bonding. Every night, all week. It was just _dandy_."

"I hang out with my parents every night _every_ week." God. It's just impossible to win an argument with this girl. She's so fucking good at acting pathetic that when I look over at her and see her staring at her hands in her lap, my legitimately righteous fury pretty much just melts right off of me. It's completely unfair; I'm pretty sure it's because she's so little, or something. And, for real though. She really _didn't_ call me. Or text. And maybe it did hurt my feelings a little bit. But either way, she's no more right than I am and she really shouldn't be able to make me feel guilty right now. But whatever, it's too late. I'm not mad anymore. And I guess that's probably a good thing since other people are starting to show up and I _really_ don't need them all up in my business.

"Okay, whatever. Let's just, I don't know, let's get coffee or something, okay?"

"After Glee?"

"No, _during_. Genius-" I'm interrupted by Brittany climbing into the chair in between us and lifting my legs onto her lap. "Um, Hi?"

"Hey San, want to hang out after school? I super miss you." She's messing with my shoelaces, and I slap her hands away, but it's, like, friendly.

"No can do today. I'm hanging out with Rachel." Rachel blushes for whatever reason; Brittany doesn't even really react at all.

"Oh, that's awesome. Anyway, check out what I found!" She points to her Cheerios top, which is now sporting a patch with an insignia and the words "Brittanystar Galactica".

"Nice, Britt. Where'd you get it?"

"I forget, but it's totally cool, right?" I look down at Artie and he just shrugs and shakes his head, so who even knows.

"Totally, but it's not permanent, is it?" I kind of poke at it to see if it comes off. "Coach would flip if she knew you were altering your uniform."

"Oh, no way. It's Velcro. See?" She rips it off her chest and sticks it on the back of Rachel's sweater (which features an owl today, in case you're curious.)

"What are you doing? _What did she do_?" Rachel is leaning forward and looking at me while also trying to look over her shoulder to see what Brittany put on there. It's _hilarious_.

"Chill out, Berry. You've just been drafted into the Colonial Fleet." I'm laughing and Brittany is just beaming at her. She's reaching her arms back over her shoulders, but Britt somehow managed to put the patch smack in the middle where she can't reach it. Finally she gets fed up with trying and stands up to go flouncing to the front of the room. Britt snatches the patch off her back as she's walking away and puts it back onto her own shirt, prompting Rachel to spin on her heel and point at each of us like we've been caught red-handed or whatever, and it only makes me laugh harder. She ignores us and stands in the middle of the room.

"Fellow Glee Clubbers-"

"Oh please, just… stop." Mercedes, ever the voice of the people. Rachel glares at her and continues on with whatever she's trying to say.

"If you'll just allow me to speak briefly, I will be happy to be out of your hair. Now, as you certainly noticed, we, as a club, took more initiative in planning our Sectionals performance this year. It most surely can't have gone unnoticed that we also performed much better than we have in years past. Now. I would like to propose taking a similar approach to Regionals, and, if there is any justice in this world, to Nationals as well. We all sing in this room every week, there is no reason we shouldn't put some of that to use. It shouldn't be any more work for anybody in particular, I just ask that as we all watch each other perform day after day, we keep our eyes and ears open for something that will be suitable for competition, and we make those feelings known when they arise. It's a simple yet ingenious plan, if I say so myself. So. All in favor?"

Half of the club is just staring off into space, the other half is staring at Rachel, slackjawed. _Briefly_, my ass. I sigh, and then decide to help her out.

"The dwarf wants us to use the songs we practice _in here_ for Regionals if anything winds up being good enough," I say loud enough for everybody to hear. A few people nod. "Personally, I'm in."

At that, most of the club agrees, and I guess we have a plan. Which is _of course_ when Mr. Schue shows up, like, _typical._ But whatever. The big decisions are best left to the adults (and, thus, not to Will Schuester.) After listening to him natter on about whatever ridiculous thing he wants us to sing about this week, we leave and I head out to the parking lot with Rachel. She follows me straight to my car.

"Not that I care or anything since we're going to the same place, but like, don't you have your _own_ car?"

"Of course I do, Santana, and you already know that. I got a ride from my dad this morning. I needed to talk to you and wasn't sure I would find the time during the day, so took a chance on the assumption that you wouldn't refuse to give me a ride home even if we were fighting. That assumption has proven to be correct, although we no longer seem to be fighting at this point." And with that, she climbs into the passenger seat, leaving me standing by the driver side shaking my head. This girl is just unbelievable.

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We go to the Lima Bean and have barely sat down with our coffees when Kurt and Warbles show up. I pretty much want to bolt immediately, but Rachel waves at them and I'm her ride and I guess I'm pretty much stuck. After they get their stuff they walk over; I just sink back into my chair and try to look, like, _indifferent_.

"Ladies, fancy meeting you here. What's the occasion?" Despite his weird soft voice, Kurt is loud enough for the whole café to hear. Blaine just raises his eyebrows briefly and smiles at me. I'm pretty sure I've heard him sing more words than I've ever heard him speak, which is kind of weird now that I think about it.

"Oh, no great occasion. Santana and I are just celebrating the resolution of an argument over coffee." Rachel and Kurt are sitting on opposite ends of a loveseat, facing eachother with their feet up on the cushions. At this, Kurt looks over at me.

"Lovers' quarrel?"

"Hardly." I snap back at him, narrowing my eyes. He blushes a bit and turns back to Rachel.

"Oookay, Satan…" he whistles. Like, I'm just _so glad_ he showed up. I tune out the rest of their conversation, not that they even notice. It's not like I even really mind Kurt; sure, he can be annoying, but you always know what you're gonna get from him. And I can actually kind of respect his bitchy streak. But I haven't seen Rachel in a week, and this is really not what I had in mind when I asked her to hang out with me. I don't think either of them has spared a glance at me or Blaine for like 15 minutes when I'm startled back to reality by the unfamiliar sound of Blaine actually saying something out loud.

"Huh?" Okay, I heard him speak, but I wasn't actually _listening_. He nods toward the counter, where a tall scrawny kid in unmistakable Warbler garb is leaning. "Old friend?"

"Not exactly," he sighs, as New Warbler turns and sees us. He saunters over with seriously the _smarmiest look_ I have ever seen on his face. I dislike him on principal. Like, more than usual, even.

"Blaine Anderson, we meet again." Seriously, this fucking _guy_. At the sound of his voice, Kurt snaps to attention.

"Ahh, Sebastian. Long time no see. It's been what? Almost two weeks since you last stalked us here? To what do we owe the pleasure?" He says it with this disgustingly sweet smile on his face, and, yeah, I can definitely get behind Bitchy Kurt every now and then.

"Kurt, you look _lovely_ today. This doesn't actually concern you, though, so why don't you just go back to your _girl-talk_ while I speak to Blaine?"

"What do you want, Sebastian?" Blaine almost sounds like he has a backbone. It's precious.

"I heard you won your Sectional, and it's only sportsmanlike to congratulate you. I'd also like to offer an olive branch of sorts-" Kurt raises an eyebrow at him suspiciously."Oh, not to you, Kurt, I'm so sorry. I'd just like to be the first to let _Blaine_ here know that, after we've wiped the floor with New Directions at Regionals, he'll be welcomed back to the Warblers with open arms. We already have a blazer waiting."

"Oh, _please_." I cannot sit and listen to this kid anymore. "You don't stand a _chance_ against us. We beat you when you _had_ Blaine; what makes you think you can take us now that he's gone Browncoat? And have you _heard_ Rachel _sing_? You are so far out of your depth you haven't even realized you're drowning."

"Feisty. And who might you be?" Just, _gross_.

"You can call me Seriously Fucking Bored Of This Conversation. Why don't you take your coffee and your _ridiculous_ haircut and slither on out of here, Malfoy."

"Funny. But I don't take orders from people like _you_." What an _asshole_. He turns his attention back to Blaine while I try to talk myself out of hauling one off on his smirky-ass creeper _face_. "I really do have to be going, though. Songs to rehearse, you know. Blaine: I'll call you." We all watch him walk out before turning to Blaine, like, _who the fuck is this kid_.

"Ugh, guys, I'm sorry. That's Sebastian. He's the new captain of the Warblers-"

"I thought the Warblers didn't have a captain, they had a council?" Rachel asks him, looking to Kurt for confirmation.

"They didn't, but they do now apparently," Kurt answers, rolling his eyes. I look at Blaine, who is rubbing his forehead like he's trying to get rid of a migraine or something.

"And you're _friends_ with this guy? I mean, I can be an ice cold bitch, but he just _oozes_ cuntitude-"

"Santana! That's a horrible word!" Rachel looks scandalized, of course.

"Well _he's_ a horrible _person_, and, whatever, that's not even a real word. But it still totally suits him." I glare at her until she finally smiles before turning back to Blaine. "Seriously though, that kid is bad news, and he has a pretty _ridiculous_ boner for you, Warbles-" This time Rachel actually reaches over and smacks me in the arm. "Ow! Jeez, Berry, will you just let me talk, please?"

"Not if you insist on being so vulgar. It's disgusting, Santana!" I look to Blaine and Kurt for some support but they both just throw their hands up and keep their mouths shut. I roll my eyes.

"Fine. Sebastian is a _mean boy_, and I suspect he want to engage in some serious... _lovemaking_... with our little Blaine Warbler over here, which I imagine would be an unpleasant scenario all around.. I recommend avoiding his company until such time as we can soundly... kick his scrawny ass." I can't really keep a straight face at this point, but Rachel is just shaking her head and smiling a little bit. Blaine and Kurt are having, like, a _look_, until Rachel speaks up.

"Well, Santana, while I certainly I can't say that I agree with your method of expression, I do firmly agree that we need to win at Regionals even more than ever. Aside from the fact that I hate to lose, I really _don't_ want that awful boy to _win_."

"I'll drink to that, Berry." I raise my coffee up in a toast and the three of them bring it in. Kurt and Blaine aren't really that bad, I guess. They can certainly take a cue, but I guess that's kind of a prerequisite for being in Glee (unless you're Finn, but whatever.)

"Well, we're gonna head out. What are you guys doing after this?" Kurt asks, pointing back and forth between me and Rachel. I just shrug.

"Want to come over my place? We were planning on picking out a song to perform in Glee this week. We could make it a group number if you want in. Or you could just hang out. Finn will be there..." He gives Rachel an appraising look at that, and I roll my eyes.

"Um, I don't know. Santana?" The look she's giving me is, like, _hopeful_.

"Yeah, I don't think so. I have some homework I need to get to." That's a lie. "I mean, you can go if you want to, if somebody would be able to give you a ride home or whatever."

"Oh... Okay. Kurt, do you think-"

"It would be my pleasure. But you are not allowed to take over this performance, I demand my fair share of the spotlight." Rachel accepts the handshake he offers and they both smile.

We pack up and head back to the parking lot. I walk over to my car after saying my goodbyes and open the door to to throw my stuff in the backseat when-

"Santana?" Rachel is standing right behind me, like, literally twiddling her thumbs.

"Um, what?"

"My bag..."

"Damn, sorry. I didn't realize I had it." And like, now that I'm thinking about it I kind of always carry her stuff for her. I shrug her bag off my shoulder and hand it over. "Here, sorry about that."

"It's okay. It was nice to see you today." She glances back at Kurt for a split second and then smiles at me awkwardly. "I mean, you know. It was nice to have you speaking to me again. I really missed you."

"Yeah, me too." I don't really know what else to say to that. "So, um. Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. I promise to not _not-talk_ to you or whatever." She laughs, like, the smallest laugh.

"Great. Goodnight, Santana." She looks back at Kurt again and then gives me a patented Rachel Berry hug, except it's _not_. Or, I dunno, maybe it is. Maybe that's what her hugs have always been like. But watching her climb into Kurt's SUV (and she seriously has to _climb_), it's undeniable that something is different. Because this time, I'm _jealous_. And I think I might just be the stupidest fucking person on the planet.


	17. Chapter 17

Things stay pretty normal. The school is actually a fairly peaceful place to be; Quinn and Puck seem to have fallen into some kind of actual relationship pattern, and however that works, she's chilled out a lot. And Finn and Rachel are doing whatever they're doing. Which…

Okay. So, like, just a couple weeks ago he was heartbroken and he couldn't even be in the same room as Quinn or Puck without the potential for some serious manchild-on-chair violence. And now he's hanging around Rachel's locker with that dopey-ass grin on his face looking like nothing ever happened. And I guess that's normal, because everybody else seems to bounce back pretty quickly too; romances in this school (and probably every school, fuck if I know) aren't exactly known for their staying power. But it's been almost a year (or, I don't know, _almost_ almost a year), and I still get a little punchy sometimes when I see Britt with Artie. Like, I'm over it, but I haven't exactly had a chance to _move on. _There's nobody here to move on _with_.

It's just dumb. And it's a total cliché. And I can't do it _again_.

So I just won't. I mean, I'm sitting at the Cheerios table with Quinn and Brittany, vaguely listening to them holding court over the underclassmen. And I'm looking over at the Glee table at Rachel, and it's just like, _that's my best friend now_. However the fuck that happened, it's just true. And there are just all these facts. Like, she's insane. And she's cute (she just _is_, and it's so goddamn _obvious_, which…) And she definitely talks too much but I always wind up listening so I clearly don't really mind. She's my _friend_. And that dumbass Finn is trying to feed her a bologna sandwich right now. And, like, I'm so _not_ a vegan or anything but bologna is fucking gross no matter what. She just shakes her head and smiles and he swallows the whole sandwich in like two bites; it's _revolting_.

And I'm _jealous_.

"Okay, now _you're_ staring…" Quinn is giving me that look. I kind of frown a little by accident, but whatever. I look back at the Glee kids and nod my head in their direction.

"You're really okay with Finn and Berry, doing... that?" She doesn't answer, so I look back at her. After a minute she shakes her head a little.

"I guess it just doesn't really matter, like you said before. I don't get it, I'll probably _never_ get it, but if he's happy…" I can only really nod in agreement, because, like, she's finally acting like a human being, but for once I almost wish she wouldn't. She smiles. "And anyway, it's been like a month, I guess I'm getting used to it."

"Makes sense. The size differential though…" I smirk and wave my hand between the two of them and Quinn laughs. "I don't think I can ever get used to seeing that. It's like King Kong and Fay Wray or something."

"Totally. Or like Larval Mothra and those cute little fairy girls that sing to it."

"Oh my God, Britt, that's perfect…" I am cracking up.

"Except Mothra is a girl, but whatever. Finn has boobs kind of."

"He does not." Quinn is shaking her head but she's laughing too. "And is Mothra really a girl?"

I just shrug, because I really have no idea. Britt is nodding pretty enthusiastically though so I I'm fine taking her word for it.

"Oh! We should watch it at the sleepover!" She's bouncing up and down in her chair clapping her hands, but like-

"What sleepover?" Quinn and I ask her at the exact same time.

"Rachel's. Everybody is kind of friends now, or like there are no more slushies anymore or something? So Rachel wants to have a big sleepover and we can all go, but she's afraid you guys won't come so she hasn't invited you yet."

"Why wouldn't _I_ go?-"

"No _way_ I'm going-"

"And since when do you even talk to Berry-"

"I'm the President now, I talk to everybody. Duh. And you're both totally coming. It's Friday night after the game." Quinn starts to object, but Britt just looks at her and, like, shuts her _down_. "You're coming too, Quinn. We all are. And it's gonna be so awesome." She looks so serious right now. "Rachel is making dip, you guys."

"Oh, yeah. _Dip_. Now I _have_ to go…" Quinn is squinting at Brittany and just shaking her head.

"I know, right? So exciting. And the best part is? It's vegan." With that, she gives us each an hug and then skips over to Rachel, who also gets a hug as Brittany whispers in her ear. When Britt lets her go, Rachel looks over to us and waves with a big smile on her face. I just roll my eyes; Quinn waves back but looks like she has no idea what she just agreed to.

"Relax, Fabray. I've tried her dip; it's not bad."

"Wanky…" She raises a brow and I just slap her in the shoulder.

"Dude, that's _so_ my line. You will be hearing from my lawyers."

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We lose the football game, which knocks us out of the playoffs and ends the season. I don't really care; this will free up my Friday nights from now on so it's actually kind of a relief. And this sleepover thing means we don't need to listen to the boys complain about it tonight anyway.

"I cannot believe I am spending my Friday night with Rachel Berry…" Quinn has been complaining like this all day. But right now we're pulling into the Berry driveway, and I'm seriously hoping this is the last of it.

"Okay, Q? I get it, you're not _friends_ with her. But I am. And she's trying, okay? Just be polite. Or ignore her. Or, I don't know get drunk." I grab a large paper bag out of the trunk once I've got my Cheerios bag slung across my back and give her a smirk. The telltale clink of glass bottles causes her to lift an eyebrow. She stops complaining at least and obediently follows me up the front walk like a good little puppy. Britt had jumped out and run ahead before the car was even stopped, so the front door is wide open.

"Hellooooo? I come bearing booze!" I just walk in and head towards the side stairs; I've been here often enough by now to know she'll have everybody downstairs in the Oscar room.

"Santana! _The neighbors_!" She rushes over and snatches the bag from me once I get down to the basement. I just smirk at her, because, whatever. She brings the bottles over and sets them on the bar, where there had previously only been juice and Diet Coke.

"Oh, thank God…" Mercedes heads over there immediately to top her drink off with something real. "Santana, girl, you just saved some lives tonight."

Quinn is right behind her, and pretty soon everybody has a drink in hand, even Rachel.

There's a movie playing (not Mothra), and sure enough, there is a big bowl of dip on the bar with some carrots and stuff to go along with it. Brittany is chowing down while Quinn looks on suspiciously.

I take my drink and slouch down onto the couch away from everybody. I'm not even feeling antisocial, I just fucking love this couch. And, seriously. The party can come to me. Not that it's much of a party. Mercedes, Tina and Kurt are camped out in the corner. Quinn and Brittany are still by the food (Rachel shocked the world by coming downstairs with a tray of bagel bites, complete with pepperoni, and Quinn has been giving the evil eye to anybody who's dared to try to get at them.) Rachel has mostly been flitting up and down the stairs with refreshments and DVDs and whatever else she thinks we might need. I guess she's satisfied, because she comes over to me after dumping some more ice into the ice bucket.

"Hey." I look up at her and give her an almost-smile, lifting my eyebrows for a second.

"I'm really glad you could make it, Santana." She sits down next to me and smiles all shy, and, like, _how many times do we have to do this_?

"Yeah, about that. Why would you think I wouldn't want to come? It's honestly kind of insulting." I'm smiling as if I'm joking, but, like, _really_.

"I don't know! It's so stupid, I know. I just… I can never tell with you."

"Tell _what_, exactly?" She's just looking at her drink as if anything interesting is gonna happen in there. "_Berry_. What?" She looks at me and then shakes her head and looks back to her lap.

"Santana, you... you're so easy to talk to a lot of the time. But then you won't talk to me _at all_ for days at a time. And you don't ever want to hang out with me when other people are around, which is understandable-" I'm just shaking my head.

"Okay, hold up. That's not it, so don't even think that. I just... I don't really like to hang out with other people, _period_." She gives me a weird look, like I don't even know what. I reach over and grab her hand for a second and squeeze it before I let it go. And then I roll my eyes, because hell, I'm still me. "You're kind of my best friend, Berry."

And she's hugging me. And we're only one drink deep, so there's not really any excuse for the fact that I'm totally hugging her back for like the first time ever, but she doesn't seem to notice and, like, who cares. She pulls away after a minute, and-

"Oh my God, Berry. Are you seriously crying?"

"Shut up." She's brushing tears off her cheeks but we're both laughing. "Stop! That was just a really sweet thing to say, and it's the holiday season-"

"_The holiday season_? Who even _are_ you? Let's just... we're doing shots. This party is way too weepy."

I grab her hand again, this time to drag her over to the bar. Quinn and Brittany are already over here, so I yell to get the other stragglers to join us.

"SHOTS!"

That works. I pour one for everyone and raise my glass.

"As our hostess Ms. Rachel Berry has just kindly pointed out to me, _the holiday season_ is upon us." I wink at her and she slaps my arm. "So. I think it's appropriate to toast to the things we're thankful for. The important things in life. Without further ado: TO BOOZE AND BITCHES!"

Nobody except Tina and Brittany toasts with me. I raise an eyebrow at Tina and she just shrugs.

"Fine. To... friends. And Glee. And pretending not to hate each other for a few more months." Everybody seems to agree to that one, and we toss them all back with only a little coughing from a person who shall remain nameless (fuck it, it's Kurt.) I pour another round just for good measure and head back to the couch, wiggling my fingers behind me for the others to follow. "If this is supposed to be a party, we should probably try to hang out, like, vaguely near each other."

Rachel sits in the corner next to me; Britt sits on my other side and drapes her legs over both of our laps (those long fucking legs). Quinn squeezes in behind her. Tina, Kurt and Mercedes take the loveseat.

"Sooo..." Kurt surveys our seating arrangements and kind of scratches his chin. "The Unholy Trinity sharing a couch with Rachel Berry. Willingly. I guess we really have come a long way."

"I guess so," Quinn deadpans. I don't say anything, because whatever. Everybody knows I'm friends with Rachel now; I don't _have_ to say anything. Kurt's just being... Kurt. And Brittany is being Brittany. She's touching her toes across Rachel's and my laps while we hold our drinks above our heads so we don't spill them, and then she sits up suddenly and almost clocks me in the chin with the back of her head.

"Hey Kurt, truth or dare?"

"Um, are we playing that now?" He looks around at us for a clue, but who knows. I just shrug and wave a hand, like, _just go with it_.

"Totally, it's your turn. Duh. So, truth or dare?"

"Okayyyy... Truth, I guess?" Brittany leans back into Quinn's lap and taps her chin for a minute until she comes up with a question, and then she rolls over and leans up on her elbow.

"Okay. Kurt. And you have to tell the truth or else." She starts kicking her feet and me and Rachel have to grab her legs to keep from being brutalized. "So. What is... Blaine's hair made of?"

I choke on my drink; Mercedes straight up spits hers out. Kurt just has no idea how to respond.

"Um, hair, mostly. And, I guess... a whole lot of gel."

"Wow. That's awesome. I thought it was like vinyl or something." She swings her legs to the floor and sits up and puts her hands together, still looking at Kurt. "Okay, it's your turn. You just pick someone, and then you say "Truth or dare?", and then when they choose one you have to figure out what to ask them. It's like way easier than it sounds though, I promise."

It's a pretty uneventful game. As people get more and more drunk, I learn way more about the sex lives of my fellow Glee-clubbers than I ever wanted to know. Somebody makes the mistake of asking Tina about Mike and she goes on for like 20 minutes. Like, go Tina, but I just do not need to know this stuff. Sam and Mercedes are apparently at it like rabbits, which explains why I barely see him anymore. News to me is that Quinn actually did sleep with Finn ("Once, and it was... not good. Thus: Celibacy Club President. Until Puck.") More interesting than that, Brittany has to run around the block naked (we let her wear shoes, it's fucking cold out there), and much to Kurt's dismay she doesn't bother to put many clothes back on once she's fulfilled the dare. It's almost bedtime anyway; we're all in various states of pajamatude. I take a dare and wind up having to eat an impromptu vegan meal prepared by Brittany with whatever Rachel has in her pantry. It's pretty gnarly. But by then I'm pretty hammered and I could use a snack, so I suck it up and chow down. The night is winding down; we're all on the verge of passing out, but Quinn wants to take her last turn, and whatever.

"Berry. Truth or dare?"

"Hmmm? Well, I don't much fancy the prospect of getting off of this couch right now, so I will say... truth."

"Fine. Truth." She smirks in a half-asleep rendition of that old-fashioned Evil Quinn way. "Berry. Are you a virgin?"

"Rach, you don't have to answer that," somebody says. Or... wait. _I_ say. Which is stupid. Because everybody else has answered way more personal stuff than that. And she probably doesn't even care, but... I am drunk. And even just hearing the question is opening up some doors in my brain that should definitely stay shut. And either way... I mean I don't know which would be worse right now. It's just very... _I_ am just _very drunk. _She just laughs and tries to smack me over her shoulder (Brittany and Quinn are now on the floor in their sleeping bags and me and Rachel are kind of collapsed into eachother on the couch.)

"It's okay, Santana. You don't need to guard my virtue. I can guard my own virtue, obviously. Yes. Yes, I am a virrrrrrgin. Maybe _I_ should be President of the Celibacy Club after all. Or do you need a Vice President, Quinn? I could do that. Or secretary. I have immaculate handwriting..." And she's asleep. I climb over her and go turn off the lights and grab a blanket from the pile she brought down.

"Lights out..." I don't even know if anybody else is still awake. I just climb back over Rachel and snuggle in under the blanket and it's warm. Really really warm. It's the warmest. And I'm drunk. I'm the drunkest.

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I wake up snuggled up to Rachel Berry for the third time in my life, and I'm not really shocked by it at all this time. It's still dark, and I know that when I open my eyes the hangover is going hit me, so I figure I just won't open them. My arm is kind of asleep though, the one flung over Rachel; she has it pinned under her arm, and somethings gotta be done about it because I can't go back to sleep like this. So I try to move it a little to get my circulation going, and it seems to work. But then I stop moving. Because suddenly I can feel my hand, and I can feel where my hand _is_. I try to gently ease my arm back, but Rachel mumbles something and just pulls it tighter, and I am _so fucked_. Because I definitely can't fall back asleep like _this_, with my hand on Rachel fucking Berry's _tit_. What if she wakes up? I'm honestly surprised she hasn't woken up already; my heart is beating hard, and not so much in my chest right at the moment. I take a chance. I just yank it out of there as quickly as I can. I open my eyes to see if she's awake and she doesn't seem to be.

But Quinn is awake. I lock eyes with her for a second and then shut mine again. I mean, we're under a blanket; she can't see anything. And we're not _doing _anything. Like, Brittany is spooning Quinn right now, for Christ's sake. It's all the same. I just need to go back to sleep. I'm drunk and it's been a million years since I've seen any action and, just... _boobs_... and I think I'm just kind of seeing things in technicolor right now. So I snuggle back down, and I make sure to put my hand some place _safe _this time. And I roll onto my back as much as I can so I'm not smelling her shampoo as much. Finally, after a little while, exhaustion and warmth win out over whatever the fuck else I have going on. And the last thing I think before I drop off is _I am in trouble._


	18. Chapter 18

I wake up for real when I feel Rachel getting off the couch. I definitely smell food, and in the quiet of the still-sleepy basement I can make out male voices that are totally not Kurt, so I guess her dads are back from wherever they were the night before. After a few minutes of wallowing in my hangover, I roll off the couch to gather up the liquor bottles into my bag just in case they decide to come downstairs any time soon. There's still some juice left over, so I pour myself a cup and chug it, even though it's room temperature, just to get the taste of last night out of my mouth.

When I get upstairs to the kitchen, Rachel and both of her dads are sitting at the breakfast bar and she's opening a present. And… _fuck_.

"Oh, good morning Santana. We were just finishing up our breakfast, but there's more where that came from. Bacon and eggs okay?" Hiram stands up and goes over to the fridge and that is_ actual honest-to-God-bacon _he's holding.

"Um, what? Yeah. Bacon, definitely yes to bacon." I give Rachel a questioning look and she crinkles her nose in disgust and it's kind of adorable (but, like, not adorable enough for me even think about skipping out on bacon.)

I slide onto the stool next to her and just look at her until she meets my eye.

"It's your birthday." I'm not whispering exactly, but almost. She nods and looks down at the wrapping paper still sitting on the bar. "And that, last night? That was a birthday party?"

"Yes," she kind of sighs but I can tell she's just getting warmed up and I'm not really planning on listening for very long. "I guess it was, technically, a birthday party…"

"Okay, but like, why didn't you…" I glance around; Leroy is reading the paper and seems to be ignoring us while Hiram fries up the bacon on the stove, but they can both definitely hear us. Not like it matters, but, like, this is really awkward. "Basically I just feel kind of like a dick for not _knowing_, okay? I would have at least gotten you something. I mean it probably would have been a really shitty gift, but it would have been _something_, anyway." She laughs a little; she's smiling for whatever reason.

"It doesn't matter," she says, and she's still smiling and shaking her head at me. "You didn't even know it was my birthday and you all showed up anyway. And it was fun. Even if we didn't wind up doing any karaoke, which would obviously be involved in my _ideal_ birthday celebration. I even enjoyed that weird giant caterpillar movie Brittany insisted on putting on while we played Truth or Dare-" I snort out a laugh at that and shake _my_ head now. "It was a good night, Santana. It was a good party."

I guess it doesn't really matter, as long as she doesn't care. But it still seems a little, like... does she really think she needs to _trick_ us into coming to her birthday party? It's pretty sad and more than a little ridiculous at this point. But, obviously it's too late now, and no harm no foul or whatever I guess. And anyway, I'm being distracted by breakfast so I just drop the subject. Hiram hands me a plate of bacon and eggs with toast and I thank him, because it looks fucking _delicious_ and I like to encourage good behavior.

"Okay, fine. Well, _Happy Birthday_, anyway," I say, nudging her with my shoulder as I stab an egg with my toast. "Oh damn, Hiram. Over easy, just the way I like it."

"Thank you, but… _ugh_," Rachel says, jumping up from her stool and gesturing between me and my goddamn _delicious_ breakfast. "I don't understand how you can eat that…_carnage_. I'm going to go downstairs and wake the others up. I wouldn't want anybody to miss out on this… _this_."

As she flounces down the stairs in an obviously dramatized storm-out, I raise an eyebrow and look at her dads.

"She's definitely seen me eat worse than this before…"

"It's the yolks. Jesse St James…" Leroy waves a hand over his face and smirks, but, like, obviously not unkindly or anything. "Add to that the fact that it is her birthday, which she has always used as an excuse to be particularly dramatic, and you get a patented Rachel Berry Breakfast Protest."

"So like, don't get me wrong, because this is completely delicious-" He gives me a look, like, _duh_, because my plate is already practically clean. "Okay, yeah. But I mean we could have eaten some kind of vegan whatever since it _is_ her birthday and all. Well, not Quinn; she basically lives off bacon and being a total bitch. But the rest of us could have at least pretended to be civilized until we managed to drag ourselves to a diner for some real food."

"Oh please, as if you're any better," Quinn says, appearing behind me before slouching onto a stool next to me. "I hear tales of bacon. Please tell me this is true…" Rachel's dads give eachother this look, like, _what do we have here_.

"Quinn, I presume? Bacon is forthcoming, I promise," Hiram assures her and the rest of the rabble who have been streaming up from the basement (and I _seriousl_y hope I look better than they do). Quinn just puts her head on the bar and mutters "thank god…" under her breath. "And Santana, I assure you that Rachel was served the very finest _vegan whatever_ before you came upstairs. And she is more than used to seeing Leroy and I eat similar breakfasts. Birthday or not, she will survive." Everybody manages to look some combination of confused and ashamed when the word "birthday" fully sinks in.

"Right, so, guys," I say once everybody is upstairs and standing or sitting around the breakfast bar. "Apparently it was some kind of state secret or something, but today _is_ in fact Berry's _birthday_. So, if you'll join me-"

"You have got to be _kidding_ me-"

"Shut it, Fabray. We all know you can sing. Or, like, _barely_, anyway. Just do it."

Everybody joins in, and it's a pretty decent version of Happy Birthday to You. Rachel seems to approve anyway, since she doesn't offer us any notes on our performance and we all get hugs, except for Quinn (not that Rachel doesn't try, but when she goes in for it Quinn growls at her and she quickly changes her mind.)

"So, 18, huh? How's it feel to be legal?"

"Actually, I'm turning 17 today." Huh. I mean I guess it makes sense, she'd either be weirdly old or weirdly young for her grade with a birthday in December.

"Guys. Obviously she's younger than us, that's why she's so much smaller than everybody. It totally makes sense." Brittany has completely wound herself around Rachel in a hug, and Rachel looks completely fucking baffled by that statement.

"Brittany, I'm pretty sure I will always be smaller than you, no matter how old I get…"

"Yeah, but you'll always be younger than us too. Duh, Rachel. But don't worry though, this stuff will make way more sense when you get older."

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After everybody's eaten breakfast (which, it turns out, is definitely more like brunch) and we've got our stuff packed up we all head home. I kind of want to stay and hang out but since I drove Quinn and Brittany here last night I pretty much have to give them a ride home. Anyway, Rachel has birthday plans with her dads all day and I doubt they really need me tagging along.

I stop at home once I've dropped everybody off but I just take a shower and grab some clean clothes and then get back in my car. My parents aren't around, again, and I don't feel like spending my entire Saturday in my empty house. I head to the library, because, whatever. There aren't really a lot of options. I could go to the mall, but I don't really need anything and it will probably be a nightmare since Christmas is like a week away. I just ate, so Breadstix is obviously out. And whatever. At the library I can at least get some work done, and I'm pretty much guaranteed not to run into anybody I know there. It's, like, a smart decision. I mean, I've been keeping up with my work pretty well but it's the end of the semester and I have a couple papers due before Christmas break, and I manage to get through pretty much everything.

I wind up spending the whole day there; by the time I'm done typing up the last bibliography it's already past six. No texts, no missed calls. I seriously have no idea what to do with myself now, so I go to the grocery store because, like, _who even knows_. But it's actually not a bad place to go when you're bored. Like, if I run into anybody it's not even weird that I'm here alone; grocery shopping isn't exactly a team sport. And I probably need food anyway. Plus: free samples. Which are usually pretty gross, but that's not the point; I like scowling at the servers until they let me have seconds, even if I don't actually want the seconds. It's practice. It's, like, _a hobby_.

So, I'm not even that hungry even though I haven't eaten since breakfast, but I'm bored, so when I get home I decide to make pizza. Because it's fun, and it makes a huge mess, and since my parents will hopefully _actually_ be home tomorrow I figure the least they can do is clean it up. The dough has to hang out for at least an hour after I mix it, so after I throw it into bowls I go and take a shower because I'm basically covered in flour. I'm just killing time until I can actually make dinner, which will also pretty much just be killing time since I don't even feel like _eating_ it, but whatever.

Once I'm clean I drag my laptop down to the living room and check Facebook to see if anything is happening. Not like I really want to hang out with any of those people anyway, but whatever. Some Cheerio is having a party, which, _no thanks_. I figure while I'm there it can't hurt to leave Rachel a "Happy Birthday" on her wall. I'm kind of surprised when she "likes" it immediately. Looking at the time and realizing it's still only 8:30, I figure, like, _what the hell_, and I comment on it.

**Santana Lopez: What are you doing?**

**Rachel Barba Berry: Nothing terribly important at the moment. Why do you ask?**

**Santana Lopez: Come over.**

**Rachel Barba Berry: I'd love to. I need to get ready, but I should be there within the hour.**

**Santana Lopez: And bring some of that gross fake cheese you never shut up about.**

By the time my doorbell rings it's 9:15 and I am actually starting to feel a little bit hungry.

"You're late," I tell her as I open the front door.

"I cannot possibly be 'late', Santana," she huffs, heading straight for the kitchen with the groceries she's carrying. "Considering we never actually had any formal plans. Plus, I had to stop at the store to pick up some Daiya."

"Some what-now?"

"'Gross fake cheese', remember?" She's looking at me all expectantly.

"Not really," I lie. "But thanks, I guess."

"Santana-"

"Chill, Berry. I'm just messing with you. Did you eat dinner already or what?" I'm trying not to laugh but she's kind of slapping my arm and it's, like, _completely_ dorky. She lets me off the hook pretty quickly, anyway.

"My fathers took me for a late lunch after our shopping trip, but that was hours ago."

"Well, good, because I'm making pizza. And Santana Lopez does _not_ eat alone-"

"You're _making_ pizza?" She looks a little too skeptical at that; it's kind of insulting.

"Well, yeah, obviously, hence the 'gross fake cheese'. And the dough is obviously vegan. I mean, I think it is anyway. Do vegans eat yeast?" I'm kind of second guessing myself, but who even knows with her weird-ass diet.

"Yes, Santana, yeast is fine. As long as there are no eggs."

"There are no eggs in pizza dough, Berry. Like, _ever_."

It's a good thing I made extra dough, because Rachel totally destroys one trying to stretch it out. I take over that portion of the prep after that horror-show and let her deal with slicing up the toppings. As predicted, the kitchen is a disaster area by the time we're done, but we wind up with two completely respectable pizzas. Or, I guess, one completely respectable pizza and one vegan monstrosity that basically _looks_ like a pizza but isn't actually a pizza as far as I'm concerned.

"So," I ask her, once we're settled with our food in the living room watching Buffy, "Why aren't you doing anything tonight?"

"I'm hanging out with you, that's certainly something," she says primly, but, like, _please_.

"Duh." I tilt my head and glare at her, but only for a second. "I mean why don't you already have _plans_. I figured you'd be out with Finn or something."

"He doesn't even know it's my birthday, unless Kurt told him."

"Why didn't you tell him? You do realize you're missing out on a perfect opportunity to score yourself some bling, right? Seriously, the _only_ thing I miss about dating boys is the presents." What? It's totally true.

"I'm not _dating_ Finn."

I just look at her, like, oh _come on_.

"Okay, I am _going on dates_ with him. But we barely even see each other. And he's just… he has nothing to offer me in the long term. He's only applying to schools in-state, and his goals are… I don't actually think he _has _any goals. We have essentially nothing in common. And he tried to feed me _bologna_ the other day, and while I'm obviously biased, does anybody really eat _bologna_?-"

"Not anybody reasonable, anyway."

"Exactly, _thank you_. And that's why I didn't tell him. Because I don't want to give him the wrong idea."

"Okay, _believe_ me, I get it. But, like, why go out with him at all if you know there's no point? It doesn't even sound like you particularly like him, and not like I really care or anything? But it's kind of rude to string him along." Which like, I _really_ don't care, but… "And based on what you said last night, he's not even getting any action out of the deal-"

"Santana! First of all, that's crude, and it isn't really any of your business-"

"Oh, please. As if you won't come running to me the second your…Wait, what was it? Oh right. Your _virtue_-" She smacks my arm. "Whatever. All I'm saying is that it eventually will _be_ my business. I'm the best resource you've got."

"Well, that is certainly big talk coming from you. The president of the celibacy club is getting more 'action' than you are this year."

I glare at her for real this time, and she shuts up immediately. I mean, like, _seriously_ Berry? That is a low blow. But honestly… God, that's so pathetically true that it's almost funny. It _is_ funny, I guess. So I just shake my head.

"Yeah, well. Maybe you and me can be co-Presidents. Because, barring, like, the arrival of a sultry new foreign exchange student or something, my prospects are seriously grim." God, this got depressing in a hurry. "But whatever. Next year I'll be in the city and, I don't know. But the dating pool has got to better than this." Her ears perk up at that. Like, _really_.

"The city?"

"Yes?"

"As in New York City?"

"Um, _maybe_? I applied to a lot of schools, but yeah. New York is _kind of_ the goal."

And she just fucking throws herself at me. Like, I can't even hear half of what she's saying because she's hugging me so hard and her face is half buried, but of course she is talking.

"-And we can live together and it will be perfect and- Oh! We have to tell Kurt! He'll be so excited. Or he _might_ be excited, I guess I don't actually _know_ how he'll react but eventually he'll be excited. Santana this is so perfect, I'm going to have my _people_ with me-"

"Okay, okay," I laugh at her because she's being kind of adorable even if it's way too dramatic, which it obviously is, and manage to untangle myself from her at least temporarily. "You realize I have to get in first, right? I mean, we _all_ have to get in-"

The_ look_ she gives me. God, it's even worse than anything Quinn can conjure up.

"Which, okay, _you_ will obviously get in, of course." She just rolls her eyes but at least she's not going to, like, turn me to stone any time soon. "But the rest of us mere mortals can't be so sure. I could wind up anywhere. And Kurt…"

"He only applied to NYADA," she says quietly.

"Seriously? That's pretty ballsy. And also pretty fucking _stupid_. How many people do they accept every year?"

"Um, not many. And, um… I-only-applied-to-NYADA-too."

Oh, hell no.

"Oh, hell no. What are you _thinking_, Rachel? I mean, yeah, you're, like, freakishly talented, but _one fucking school_?" She's suddenly fascinated with her hands. "Okay, seriously. Look at me, Berry." She does, and she looks… damn. "Okay, just... Listen. You're _going_ to get in. The judges would have to be blind and deaf to reject you. And even then I'm sure you'd fund a way to _annoy_ them into letting you in anyway. But, and _please_ don't take this the wrong way because I am not even being bitchy right now? You still probably have time to send out more applications as backup."

She just sighs.

"It's not a crazy suggestion. NYADA is just… it's New York, and it's the best. And I _want_ the best. I have to have the best if I'm going to _be_ the best."

"Okay," I grit out. I'm rubbing my head because this is just so gross right now, but-"Okay. And I will murder you if you ever tell anybody I said this. But, Berry... you already kind of _are_ the best. Where you go to school isn't really-"

And she's hugging me again. I swear to God I've gotten more hugs since I started hanging out with her than I had in my entire life up to this point. And I hang out with _Brittany_.

"You're such a nerd, Berry," I say into her hair. She just kind of hums; she's not exactly hugging me anymore but she's still leaning into me and it's just undeniably really _nice, _and... I'm like afraid to even _speak_. It's like I don't even know how to be _friends_ anymore. Or, like, maybe I never did. "Best friend" is historically kind of a loaded concept for me, obviously.

"It's okay, you know," Rachel says. Her voice is kind of muffled by my shirt but it's loud enough to snap me out of my daze.

"Hmmm?" I look down at her but she's staring at the TV.

"Whatever you're thinking. It's okay." She snuggles into me _more_, somehow, and, like, if that was an attempt to clarify anything it was a _total_ failure, because I have no idea what that even means.

"Okay. And what am I _thinking_, exactly?" She huffs a little laugh into my neck; I'm absentmindedly combing her hair with my fingers (not really absentmindedly at all, _obviously_, but I need to put my hands somewhere and this is as safe as anything.)

"I don't know," she says, blowing her bangs up on her forehead. I take the hint and move them off her face. "But either way, it's okay."

"I don't-" I'm not even sure what I want to say, but it doesn't matter because I'm interrupted by Rachel's phone buzzing. She groans and sits up to get her phone off of the coffee table.

"It's my dad. I should probably go home, it's getting late."

"You can stay if you want. I mean, you know. You don't have to go home if you don't want to." God, I'm _rambling_. I'm seriously spending too much time with this girl. She gives me like the tiniest smile but she still stands up and stretches.

"I think I ought to spend the night at home. I've been neglecting my morning exercise routine, and I really need to do some homework tomorrow. If I sleep here I'll probably wind up spending the whole day tomorrow, so-"

"Yeah, of course. I just didn't want you to think I was _kicking you out_ or anything." I shake my head because I am seriously _so_ pathetic right now and get up to follow her to the door.

"So-"

"Well-"

"Right. Um, well. Happy birthday, again, I guess. And, like, thanks for coming over." I'm wringing my hands and she's just looking at her shoes and it's so fucking _awkward_.

"Thank you. For inviting me, and for... you know. I had a really great birthday. So thank you. Goodnight, Santana," she says, leaning in to give me another hug.

"'Night, Berry..." She pulls back and before I really know what's happening she's on her tiptoes and kissing my cheek. And then we're both blushing, and she's walking to her car. And I'm starting to think that I'm not imagining things, but I can't really be sure and I _really _can't fuck things up again. I need to figure this out, whatever it is. I just don't really know where to begin.


	19. Chapter 19

"So..."

Me and Sam are playing Borderlands 2 in his basement while the rest of his family is at the movies or something. It's the last day of Christmas break; Rachel has been on a cruise with her dads for a week but she's getting back tonight and I seriously need a little perspective before I see her in school tomorrow. He's a decent guy and everything but he's not exactly what you'd call _sharp_, so I figure it's best to be as direct as possible.

"I think I'm kind of dating Rachel."

Sam chokes on his Dr. Pepper and kind of flails his Ps3 controller around in front of him, wheezing out "Pause it, pause it!" It would normally be pretty hilarious to watch him blowing soda out of his nose, but under the circumstances I can barely muster the energy to smirk at him. I just look at him with one eyebrow raised, like, _whenever you're ready._

"Okay," he says once he's gotten his breathing under control. "You're really gonna need to be clear with me here, because I'm pretty sure I just heard you say you're dating _Rachel_. Like, as in _Rachel Berry?_"

I'm staring at the pause screen while he freaks out because I'm kind of tired of looking at him. I try to spare him a glance for a split second but then I look away again because I can't _think_ with him being all… _Sam_. But at the same time I have no idea who else I could possibly talk about this to, so…

"Okay, well, not really. Or not _exactly_, anyway," I tell him, shaking my head and pretending to be interested in my nails. "I honestly have no fucking clue." I look over at him and he has, like, his _thinking _face on, which is probably not a great sign, but, like, what exactly am I looking for here anyway?

"So, wait. You _think_ you're dating her, but you don't know? How does that work? If you're dating, you're _dating_. You just _are_, right?" He seems to be as confused by this situation as I am; his brow is furrowed and his enormous mouth is all scrunched up in worry. He looks like a fucking cartoon character and I kind of want to slap him, like, just to end this ridiculous conversation that I just _had_ to start for some unknown reason. But I guess I don't really slap people anymore, so I just start talking instead.

"I don't _know, _okay,It's really just not that simple." I get up and start to pace slowly in front of the couch just to try to, like, _organize_ anything. "I just can't tell what's going on, and I might be totally off-base, but, like… Okay. So, we talk, seriously, like, _every_ day. I mean, we've even skyped pretty much every day while she's been gone, right? And we're always hanging out, just the two of us. And we have sleepovers. Like, a _lot_ of sleepovers. And a _lot_ of hugs. And, I mean… what _is_ that? Is that best friend behavior? I've never… I mean… I've only ever had one best friend, which…" I'm babbling. I sound like _Rachel_ right now.

"Right." He nods his head and gives me a sympathetic half-smile. "So, you guys haven't…"

"No. _God,_ no. She's like… I mean not everybody is Brittany, right?" I ask him, or maybe I tell him. God, this is so fucking _pointless_.

"Um, no? I guess?" He is only looking more confused, and, like, _welcome to the club_.

"I just mean, like, maybe a hug is just a _hug_ sometimes."

"Okay," he's back into thinking mode. "So. I don't really know." I just shake my head, because, _thanks._

"_Wow,_ Sam, you are _so_ fucking _helpful-_"

"Hey, let me finish! I don't know, okay? Girl friendships are confusing. Like, if one of you was a guy then yeah, I'd say you were pretty much dating. But, like, Mercedes and Tina nap together on the bus to competitions all the time, and they're obviously not dating. Or, like, I hope not anyway-" I smack him in the side of the head because he's being a moron, obviously, and also, like, _don't get off topic_. "Ow! Sorry. Okay. But also, Brittany hugs and kisses _everybody_- Hey! Stop hitting me, it's just true, dude. And even Quinn gets cuddly sometimes when she's drunk or tired or something." I just sigh and rub my head because he's totally _right_, but this is getting me nowhere. "But here's the thing, though: _You_ don't do that."

I look at him and kind of frown.

"Dude, seriously. You never hug anybody. You barely even _speak_ to anybody. The only person I've ever really seen you touch is Brittany, you know?"

"Okay, are you, like, _stalking_ me or something?" He just rolls his eyes.

"What I'm saying is: You like her," he says, smiling like he just solved the world's greatest mystery or something.

"I know _that_," which is at least half true, I think. I _do _know that, but it seems kind of way different to admit it out loud.

"So?"

"So _what_, Trouty?

"So, what happened to that chick who cornered me in the library last year and basically _informed me_ that we were dating?"

"That was different-"

"It doesn't have to be."

"This is more complicated."

"Yeah, it is. But, like, it might always be more complicated, though, right?"

"Yeah," I say, shaking my head (I don't think I've ever really _stopped_ shaking my head through this entire conversation.) "And that's just _fantastic_."

There's not really anything left to say, so I toss him his controller and unpause the game. Killing stuff sounds like a pretty good idea right about now.

"So," he says while we're waiting for the next map to load. "Sleepovers, huh?"

I punch him in the arm again.

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Regionals are about two weeks after Christmas break for both Glee and Cheerios, so I've got plenty going on to distract me from all this Rachel… _whatever._ _She_ doesn't really seem to _need_ distracting, which is annoying. She's gone into complete overdrive prepping for Regionals even though we've had a setlist ready for a while now. But more time to practice means more complex choreography and more time for what she insists are "improvements". I mean, yeah, I like her, okay, but even _I_ am getting tired of her bullshit by the time the competition approaches. For once I'm actually grateful for Sue's insane Cheerios practices; I think taking my aggressions out on the Baby Cheerios is the only thing standing between me and an old school Lima Heights Adjacent-style explosion. After that competition is out of the way though, it's pretty much just all Glee all the time, and I can't even wait to get it over with.

"Berry, the competition is _tomorrow_, we are not changing the choreography now," I tell her, dragging her offstage after breaking for the day. Even Brittany is getting fed up with her, and angry Brittany is really just not something anybody needs to see. "You seriously need to _calm _your ass _down_."

"I just think we could do _more_-" I sense a rant coming on, so I turn around and grab her by the shoulders.

"Some of us could, yeah. But _Finn_? Loverboy can't even handle what we're doing _now_, and Mercedes isn't a whole lot better. We're _good_. As good as we're gonna get, anyway."

"I know, okay? I'm just so… I really want to _win_ this year, Santana. I need to do _something_. I refuse to come out of this entire hellish high school experience without anything to show for it." She's pacing in tight circles with a fist clenched in front of her; it's just so _Rachel._ I let her keep up her pacing for a minute while I open up her locker and grab her books for her (shut up.)

"Berry." I shut her locker and level a gaze a her. "Stop. Look at me." She does. "We are going to win."

"We'd better-"

"We will. I mean, fuck, Rachel, _I'm _singing, so we pretty much can't lose, right?" I nudge her with my shoulder. She calms down a bit anyway.

"I still can't believe you stole that solo out from under me," she pouts, but she's obviously faking it. My solo is fucking awesome, _obviously_. She voted for me herself.

We make our way out to my car in the parking lot because it's just kind of automatic at this point that I'll wind up driving her home, which is just another confusing thing, but whatever. It's not like I actually mind, but obviously I'm not gonna admit that.

"So, when exactly did I become your personal chauffeur, Berry?" I smirk at her while throwing our stuff in the back, but I immediately feel like an ass because she doesn't seem to get that I'm joking and she looks like I just slapped her or something.

"I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have assumed-"

"No, hey, I just meant..." I roll my eyes because I seriously just always say the stupidest fucking things. I just need to, like, _be nice._ "Obviously I'm driving you home, okay? I dragged your _absurd_ stack of books to my car myself. But, like, how do you get to school in the morning, anyway? Do you, like, walk or something?"

"I have one of my dads drop me off. They don't mind."

"Well, that's ridiculous." She just scoffs at me. "I mean, you _have_ a car, which I assume they bought for you specifically so they wouldn't have to drive your ass all over town anymore. It's _rude _to make them drive you."

"Fine, Santana. I am perfectly capable of-" I throw a hand up in her face, like, _shut up. _The other hand stays on the wheel, obviously. Safety first or whatever.

"Enough, Midget. _I'll_ pick you up on Monday."

She shakes her head at me and then just throws her hands in the air in defeat or something.

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" She still seems at least half pissed-off at me but the other half is, I don't know... something else. "You're _infuriating_. I would slap you right now if you weren't driving."

"Oh, I'm _so_ sure, Berry. You would never."

"Well, _Lopez_, I think you might be underestimating my flare for the dramatic."

"That is really_ not_ a possibility," I tell her, giving her a little smile but keeping my eyes on the road.

We're quiet for the rest of the drive. It's, like, an _almost _comfortable silence. We just seem to hit this wall every time we talk to each other, where, like, we're almost definitely flirting, and if we keep talking we will be _definitely_ flirting, and neither one of us can pull the trigger. If there even _is_ a trigger, because there's still the whole question of, like, _is she even into girls at all? _But asking that question is basically the same as asking if she's into _me_ at all, and that's a little too much like begging for me to even consider it. So, yeah. We just stop talking for long enough to reset, I guess.

When we get to her house I grab our things from the back and head towards the front door, just out of habit.

"Oh, you're coming in?"

"Um, yeah? I mean, I can go home if you're busy or whatever."

"No, it's fine. We should try to get a good night's sleep though to ensure we are both well rested for the competition tomorrow, of course. And I don't know about dinner; my dads won't be home until late."

"Oh." _Oh?_ I'm such a fucking nerd sometimes. "I mean, whatever. We can order something if you want; I'm not really hungry yet anyway." After I put our stuff down (her books on the hall table as usual, my bag next to the couch), I dig through my bag for my sweats and head into the downstairs bathroom to change. I look in the mirror and, like, I'm still _me_. I'm definitely hot, and I'm pretty much a genius, and I'm goddamn charming as hell. And I am completely _baffled_ over Rachel fucking Berry. It's so unbelievably _dumb_, but it's not going away no matter what and I can't really stay in the bathroom forever or she'll think I'm, like, _pooping_ or something. So I just wash my face real quick and head back into the living room and just... fuck, I need to just _go with it._

"Gilmore Girls, Berry? Really?" Not that I actually care, I mean I've seen every episode but I don't have to admit it. I roll my eyes and sit down in my usual spot on the couch and let Rachel scoot under my arm to lean on me. "This show is seriously not cool."

"It's my house; we'll watch what I want. Not to mention the fact that "cool" is a vague and unreliable concept, especially when you consider that it's pretty much defined by our peers, who very nearly elected Rick "The Stick" Nielson as student body president. And, in closing, I like the snappy dialogue." I can only shake my head.

"Fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "I can't argue with _Berry House Rules._ And, like, Rory _is_ sneaky hot I guess, so it's not a total waste of time."

"Sneaky hot?"

"Yeah, _you know_. She's all shy and bookish or whatever, but you get her alone in a coat room with Logan Huntzberger and suddenly she's all _bad girls_." I look down at her and she's just watching the show with a thoughtful look on her face. I smirk because, like, just... Fuck it. "Kind of like your whole deal with the reindeer sweaters and those fucking skirts." She's totally blushing now and she pulls back a bit to get all defensive.

"Santana, I am not "sneaky" _anything. _And if you're suggesting-" I throw my hands up.

"I'm not _suggesting_ anything, Berry. Those skirts are, like, criminal."

She kind of huffs and smooths out the skirt she's wearing over her thighs and I just laugh, because, just, _look at her._

"And anyway, it's a compliment, obviously."

"I like my skirts," she mumbles, leaning back into me.

"I didn't say I didn't like them," I kind of sing-song at her, but I can't help laughing. She smacks me; I ignore it and pretend to watch the show for a while, but I'm just not really that interested in Star's fucking Hollow when I'm feeling like I'm actually maybe getting somewhere, _finally_, and it seems like a dumb idea to just let it pass.

"So," I say, touching her hair a little to get her attention. "Puck is having another party, supposedly to celebrate Regionals, but I think it's pretty much just an excuse to get Quinn drunk."

"I think it's a little premature to be planning a celebration, but yes, I have heard that there will be a party afterwards regardless of the outcome."

I keep stroking her hair because she seems to like it; she snuggled up a little closer when I started doing it so I figure there's no real reason to stop now. I glance down at her but she's staring at the TV, so I just look back and keep pretending to to give a fuck about corn mazes or whatever the hell is going on on this show.

She's drumming her fingers on my stomach absentmindedly and it's pretty nice and I realize I don't really remember what we were talking about; it probably wasn't that important anyway. Suddenly she stops whatever awesome thing her hand was doing and sits up, pushing herself off my stomach, and-

"Ow. _Jesus_, Berry."

"Oh, sorry." She's talking fast enough that I'm pretty sure she doesn't even know what she's apologizing for. "So, Noah's party. Did you want to go together?"

Fuck. That was supposed to be my line. I frown a little at that, but then she frowns at _that_ , and I need to fix it, so-

"Yeah. I mean, I guess so. We're always together anyway, right?"

That is so fucking true but also so fucking _the wrong thing to say _that it basically makes me want to punch myself in the face. She nods, giving me a curious look. I'm kind of at a loss for words, and since I'll probably say the wrong thing anyway, I just lean back into the couch and hope she'll take the hint. She does. Her hair smells exactly how it always smells, which is essentially _fantastic, _and as usual I just can't keep my hands out of it. We watch a couple more episodes like that. After a while I'm pretty sure I feel her humming something but I can't really make out the tune; when I look down at her I realize she's actually snoring and I figure it's probably a good time to head home before _I_ pass out too. It's actually only like nine, but we do have a competition tomorrow and Rachel will kill me if I blow my solo. It's really goddamn cozy here though.

"Hey, wake up," I say maybe too quietly, but it seems like it would be wrong to be loud even though I guess that's kind of the whole point if I actually want to wake her up. "Rachel." I wiggle a little bit but she just mumbles and burrows her face into my chest and it's fucking adorable, but it's pretty much _the opposite _of helping right now. "RACHEL."

"Huh-what?" She sits up and looks around, frowning and blinking. "I think I fell asleep."

"Confirmed. You definitely fell asleep. And now it is time for me to go home so that we can _both_ sleep so we are ready to demolish those obnoxious Warblers tomorrow."

"What?" She's maybe not as awake as I thought she is. "Yes, right. Warblers. I have to go to sleep, Santana."

"Okay..." I laugh a little and finish dislodging myself from her before she collapses back onto the couch. "Are you planning on sleeping here all night? Because if I have to listen to you complain about a stiff neck or something all day tomorrow then we are _both _going to be in shitty moods."

"You're never in a good mood," she grunts into the couch cushion.

"Whatever. Sweet dreams. I gotta go." I lean down and mess up her hair on my way out, which seems to do the trick as far as getting her up off the couch. She comes bounding after me towards the door and grabs my hand.

"Hey! That wasn't nice. I demand a hug as compensation, after which I will indeed be going to bed."

I obviously don't bother arguing with her about the hug, and I school myself for another kiss on the cheek but I don't get one and it leaves me standing there a few seconds longer than a normal person would and I feel like a fucking _spa_z.

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Santana. And you'd better actually get some sleep. We're depending on you."

"Got it. Later, Berry."

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I don't really get much sleep after all, but we win anyway. It's actually kind of insane how much talent we have when we take the time to really _rehearse_. I mean, the competition is tighter than at Sectionals, but we are still miles ahead of the rest of the groups. The closest threat were those fucking Warblers, but even they weren't particularly close. It turns out Sebastian is a much better trash-talker than he is a singer. I'm pretty sure I see Kurt throwing an obscene gesture his way when the results are announced. Blaine just looks relieved. I'd like to take all the credit for the win (and don't get it twisted; my solo _was_ fantastic) but Rachel and Finn's duet, while gag-inducing in theory, actually proved to be pretty awesome. Rachel talks my ear off on the bus rides there and back, which is fine by me because I'm not feeling very chatty at all for whatever reason. It's not like I get _nervous_ or anything, but I don't know, competitions always just put me in a weird mood.

When we get back to school, everybody's parents are there to congratulate us. I mean, mine aren't there, but I get hugs from both Berrys and even _Judy Fabray_ shows up. I come home to an empty house but I do find a hundred dollar bill and a note about hard work being more important than winning or losing, and just... whatever.

I start pre-gaming immediately.

By the time Rachel shows up to drop her car off and walk over to Puck's with me, I am kind of drunk and kind of pissed off. I'm sure she notices, because the whole way over there she's giving me these looks and she she seems to know better than to try to talk to me after a few less than successful attempts at small-talk. And it's stupid because I'm not even mad at her; I don't really _know_ what I'm mad about but it's definitely not her fault.

"Hey," I get her attention when while we're dropping off our coats in Puck's room. "I'm gonna go find Q, okay? Come find me if you need anything." She looks confused, but she nods at me so I head out. I go weaving between people who are somehow already drunker than I am and eventually find Quinn on the couch surrounded by Cheerios.

"Move. Now." I almost smile as they scatter, leaving me and Quinn alone on the couch.

"Santana. What do you want?" She's such a bitch. It's, like, _exactly_ what I need right now.

"Why, are you offering?"

"Ugh. You're disgusting. No wonder you get along so well with Puck."

"Puck? I've barely even seen him since you've got him all neutered or whatever. I'm surprised you even let him throw this little shindig." I grab a beer from a Baby Cheerio and reach over to clink it against Quinn's without even looking at her.

"Neutered, really? You want to go there? Because that's kind of precious coming from Rachel Berry's devoted lapdog. Not that she actually lets you anywhere near her lap."

"Fuck you, Fabray."

"Where is she, anyway? I'm not used to seeing you off your leash."

"She's around. I needed a breather." I take a deep sip from my beer and look over to see Quinn giving me that perfect Fabray eyebrow-raise.

"You know Finn's still chasing her, right?"

"And?"

"Fine," she says, and she looks like she's actually being _real._ "Play it however you want, but I _know_ you."

"You _knew _me. And why do you even care anyway? You _hate_ Rachel."

"I _don't_ care," she says with an exaggerated eyeroll. "And I don't hate her. Lately she's been... tolerable anyway. For the first time in your life I think you're actually a _good _influence." She takes a sip and then gestures towards the crowd with her chin. "Incoming."

I follow her gaze, expecting to see Rachel. Not _at all_ expecting to see Brittany _and _Rachel, dancing like...

"Yeah, I need another drink."

Parties this time of year are disgusting, since it's way too fucking cold to be outside so everybody is packed together in half the amount of space we would have in the summer. Besides that couch in the living room, there is basically nowhere to sit, so once I grab a fresh beer I improvise and hop up onto the kitchen counter near Kurt, Blaine and Tina.

"Gays. Goth."

"I'm not goth any-" Whatever.

"Santana, you were fabulous today, as always. Sebastian didn't stand a chance with you on lead. Of course this does mean I'm next in line for a solo at Nationals." I roll my eyes at the last part, but the rest is true.

"How about you, Blanderson. Do you feel like a traitor or something, or are you basking in the victory like the rest of us?"

"I'm just happy to have won with Kurt. That's what really matters." I scowl at him, because, _gross,_ and reach out and poke him in the chest. They all look at me like I'm crazy, or maybe drunk. Okay, probably the second one.

"I was just checking to make sure he's, like, real. And not some perfect-boyfriend-hologram Kurt cooked up in his secret lab."

"It's not a lab, it's a sewing room. And I assure you, he is _quite_ real."

"God, I really do _not_ want to know." I'm smiling around my beer when I see Rachel across the kitchen and meet her eyes. She looks a little hesitant to come over, which is definitely my fault, so I roll my eyes and raise my beer in her direction and she seems to get the hint.

"The devine Ms. Berry, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I've actually been sent to fetch Santana. Sam and Puck have requested her in the basement for a Beer Pong match."

"Ugh, Of course..." I hop down from the counter and grab Rachel's hand as we head towards the basement door. "And let me guess, Berry. You're my teammate?"

"Yes, assuming you don't mind my company. I haven't seen you all night," she says. I look over, expecting to see her pouting, but instead she's doing that weird thing where she somehow channels Quinn. It's supposed to be intimidating, I'm so fucking sure, but right now it's kind of just _hot_.

"I don't mind," I say, squeezing her hand before I let it go so we can get down the narrow staircase. "But I actually don't have a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"You're looking at the defending Beer Pong Champion of the Puckerman Party Circuit," Sam calls over from where he's setting up the cups on a sheet of plywood. "She can't decline a title defense without, like, a Condition One emergency."

"Plus," Puck says from behind us on the stairs, carrying down a rack of beers to fill the cups, "Your girl has a ten match win streak. Which means _we _get to pick her teammate. And, no offense, Jewbro, but you definitely look like an easy mark."

"Noah Puckerman, you should know better than to underestimate me."

"Have you ever even played, Rach?" I mean, I admire her confidence, I guess, but, like, _seriously_.

"_What do you think?"_ she stage whispers into my ear, and I laugh, because, whatever. It's just Beer Pong.

My championship is out the window in minutes, but I don't really give a damn, because Rachel playing Beer Pong is fucking _hilarious._ She throws like a lunatic; like, she misses the entire table half the time and at one point somehow manages to land her ball in Finn's beer on the other side of the room. Plus the ref (Brittany) keeps calling her for elbows over the line, and she disputes it every single time even though she is seriously leaning her whole body over the table. So, we lose. Over and over again. But Rachel keeps demanding "One more game! One more!" and Britt is having a ball reffing her, so she gets as many rematches as she wants until I finally call it a night.

"I'm drunk, Berry. I want to sleep. And your dads would kill me if I left you alone with Puck, so you're coming with me."

"But I wanted to win one. I think, if we just play one more game-"

"Next time, okay? We can, like, practice or whatever."

"Fine."

The walk home is almost as quiet as the walk over had been. Whatever ease we had going on during the beer pong tournament is totally gone by the time we get to my house. I'm not mad anymore; I mean, I don't even know if I was ever _really _mad in the first place, but right now I'm _trying, _just_..._

When I get out of the bathroom she's already in bed. I climb in on my side and turn off the light on my bedside table. She's lying on her back and I know she's not really asleep, but it seems like maybe she's pretending to be and I can't think of a way to call her on it without being a fucking creep, so I just shut my eyes and do my own pretending. There's no way I can actually sleep like this; I can feel the space in between us like it's another _person_ or something. I feel the bed move and I open my eyes to see that she's rolled away from me.

"Why are you mad at me?" If it weren't so fucking painfully silent in my room I probably wouldn't have even heard it. I sigh; I don't feel like having this conversation but it's somehow a relief that she's asking. At least she's _talking._

"I'm not mad."

"You avoided me all night until I practically dragged you to hang out with me." She's not whispering anymore.

"I wasn't avoiding you. And you looked like you were having a decent enough time with _Brittany; _I didn't want to interrupt." That's obviously the stupidest fucking thing I could say.

"We were _dancing, _Santana," she says, rolling over to face me and leaning up on an elbow. "You know better than anybody what Brittany is like-"

"Okay, do not try to talk to me about-"

"No!" She is straight up yelling now; she stops and rubs her forehead for a second to calm herself down. "I'm sorry. But you can't keep playing that card with me. You were mad at me before we even got there. I don't know what the problem is but I know that it had _nothing_ to do with Brittany."

"Whatever."

"Fine. _Whatever._" She laughs this bitter little chuckle and rolls away from me again. I press my hands over my eyes, because I am seriously too fucking _drunk _for this right now, and I can't even remember why I picked this fight in the first place.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Rachel." She doesn't say anything for a few minutes but I can tell by her breathing that she's still not asleep. This is so fucking _broken _all of a sudden and, just, like, _what the fuck._ I lean up on my elbow to look at her; she's huddled up on the opposite edge of the bed facing the wall. I move over (it's awkward as hell; I've never been so annoyed by how big my bed is) until I'm almost cuddling her, but, like, not too close because I don't know if she really wants me there at all and I already feel like an asshole. I put my arm over hers and rest my hand on her shoulder.

"Hey."

She grabs my hand and pulls my arm down to her waist and scoots back into me a little. I close my eyes and breathe for a minute, and she smells like Rachel (and beer), and it's just such a dumb fucking relief that I almost laugh. But I don't.

"I like you." She doesn't respond for almost a minute and I'm starting to get worried when I feel her let out a deep breath.

"I know."

"No, Rachel. I mean-"

"I know what you mean, Santana. And I _know_."

"Okay."

"I like you too."

I feel myself letting out a breath I didn't really know I was holding; it comes out sounding almost like a laugh but right now I'm pretty sure that's okay.

"If you knew then why the fuck didn't you say anything?" It feels weird to be having this conversation with the back of her head but I'm not really interested in letting go right now, so whatever.

"Well, I didn't _know_, per se, but the data strongly suggested-"

"The data?" She squirms around so that she's facing me now with my arm still around her waist, and I'm like _not even curious_ about the data anymore, but-

"Well, I started with simple lists: your behavior towards me, your behavior towards others, your behavior towards Brittany- don't be mad, it was relevant-, other people's behavior towards me, etc. There were _a lot_ of lists. I eventually moved the most relevant information onto a spreadsheet to faciliate cross-referencing-"

I kiss her. It's quick (it's _nice_). It shuts her up. It kind of _cracks_ me up.

"Berry, you're a freak," I laugh out softly. I can see her blushing even in the dark.

"It's scientifically-"

I kiss her again, a little bit closer to _for real_ this time. It's long enough to really register how _warm_ she is, and deep enough that I can taste a little of the toothpaste she used before bed. It's real enough that I am suddenly very aware of my hand on her hip, and of how drunk we were and probably still _are, _so I pull back after a minute and breathe. We're close enough that breathing is practically still kissing, which seems too close right now (or not close enough, which is _definitely _too close), so I roll onto my back to get a little distance.

"I wanted to do that," she says, drumming her fingers on my stomach like she did before, but kind of pouting or something.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I fucking _hope_ so." I'm playing with her hair, and it's, just, _normal. _

"No, I mean tonight." Her hand goes still for a second before she kind of grabs onto my shirt a little. "When we were playing beer pong. I thought, if we won, that I could kiss you in the heat of victory, and you'd at least _know."_

"You're such a drama queen..."

"I know."

"You know _everything_, apparently."

"Mmhmm..."

I don't know how this turned into such a long fucking day, but I'm drunk, and I'm warm, and I'm just... It's just a _relief, _and I am falling asleep so fast.

"I'm going to hold you to your promise, you know..." I hear Rachel mumble into my chest when I'm already about halfway under.

"Mmm?"

"Beer pong practice. I want to win..."

"Mmkay. We'll win."

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**Sorry for the excessive hiatus. I really appreciated the response to the last chapter, but this one turned into a bit of a beast to write and time kind of got away from me. Hope it satisfies. Endless love to my editor/nail-polish-supplier/long-lost-drinking-buddy/she-knows-who-she-is for pulling me through the weeds.**


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